


The Concept of Insanity

by EbonyAura



Category: The Transformers MTMTE, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Anxiety Attacks, Codependency, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Imprisonment, M/M, Major Character Injury, Major Illness, Multiple Universes Colliding, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Schizophrenia, Separation Anxiety, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2020-01-31 06:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 68,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18585871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EbonyAura/pseuds/EbonyAura
Summary: Optimus Prime had not spoken since the last of the Autobot and Decepticon forces had been overtaken by the monstrous, alienated creatures he would come to refer to as their captors. Not since he and Megatron, the last living beings of the Cybertronian race, were taken deep into the catacombs of a planet lightyears from Earth to endure the rest of their lives as prisoners.Optimus Prime had not spoken since the first time he’d been taken to the experimentation ward. Not to anyone, but Megatron.That was before now.They hadn’t expected to escape the catacombs. Nor had they expected the arrival of their harshest punishment yet: to learn to live with it.





	1. Run

**Author's Note:**

> This is the product of me trying to emerge from writer's block and college stress. Mind you, this writer's block has been so bad it's put me off track for MONTHS... But anyway, enjoy the angst!
> 
> I do not take credit for the major characters in this story, they are the property of their original owners.

_Fear._

  
The coming of night brought no darkness to hide within. Not while they remained underground. Sirens screamed around them in a sickening chorus. Shouts of catacomb guards echoed from behind as they scrutinized every corner of the empty cells, searched the pathways leading toward the fiery pit as well as to the surface. Wails of the unlucky prisoners, too weary to understand the chance at freedom or too weak to run fast enough, grated at their hearing. They would be dragged back to their cells, thrown in without a second thought and guards would poke at them with shock prods to be sure they did not attempt to escape again.

  
The rest of the prisoners were far ahead, sheer terror aiding them to run for the surface without a second thought to look behind.

  
Megatron’s optics glanced back around the corner of the boulder, scanning to be sure they weren’t followed yet. The first wave of guards chasing after the other prisoners had passed by perhaps a couple nanoseconds ago, and it was only by the paint on their armor did they manage to step out of the way and shelter in the nook of the corner as the guards ran past. There was only one way to the surface, one path he had to be sure was clear before they attempted to reach it. The second wave would soon come, any nanosecond now. We have to move. He whirled back around to face panicked blue optics.

  
_**Come Optimus! Quickly!**_

  
Tightening his grip on the Prime’s servo, he burst into a sprint from where they’d hidden and tore up the pathway. Beside him, Optimus’s vents whined and rattled as he ran, peds clumsy and unfocused but pushing forward with any bit of energy they could use. Fear rippled through his field, making it flail and flutter around him. The path led up on a steep incline, making it ever harder for their drained frames to push ahead. Megatron’s chest plates heaved, but when he looked up the red and yellow hues were beginning to fade around them, shifting to a blue glimmer as the ceiling opened above them to expose stars. _Almost there…!_

  
“Find them!! _Find them!!_ Do _not_ let the rest escape!!”

  
The silver mech’s energon ran cold. Beside him, Optimus choked on a frightened howl. Pushed by such severe fear it could’ve only been instinctual, both mecha sprinted even faster upwards, their vents running hot and struggling to give them air. It brought them over the last stretch. Optimus stumbled into Megatron as their peds suddenly met an even surface, knocking a grunt from him as they both fought to remain upright. The Prime’s free servo clung to the other’s spiked shoulder, frame shivering from exertion and pain. Cold air suddenly hit their frames, making their vents wheeze and their armor prickle from a nearly forgotten sensation. They were out. Now, they had to find a way off the planet.

  
Megatron panted heavily as he immediately scanned their surroundings. There were no ships still on the ground. Any that had been were now hovering in the air, slowly rising through the atmosphere to eventually shoot off into the galaxy. Three moons shone above them, dotting the sky in a lop-sided triangle that lay on its side. The smallest moons made up the base of the shape, connecting to the point doubling them both in size. Below the largest moon on the planet’s surface, three giant arches stood side by side. Within them, swirling green portals shined on the other prisoners and the first wave of guards. Most of the prisoners were on the ground; yowling, crying, and forced into submission by the clicking and screeching pale monsters with prods. Others were disappearing into the portal on the far right. The silver mech’s spark flared. _Space bridges!!_

  
**_Come!! This is our chance!!_**

  
Optimus gasped with a croak as the ex-warlord bolted forward, forced to run again. His optics flickered and glitched dimly, and his whole frame tremored uncontrollably.

  
Diverting their direction to the far portal away from the commotion of the others, Megatron glanced back again to where they surfaced. The second wave of guards was soon to come. The faster they got to the bridge, the better off they would be.

  
The space bridge they advanced towards had to be the largest either of them had ever seen. Perhaps larger than the one the Decepticons once built beside the moon. It towered over them like a skyscraper, curling into the atmosphere bounded by the arch. Three long steps before it led up to the main platform, the surface right in front of the bridge. On the right side of the platform, the bridge controls stood blinking and beeping with a destination set. Megatron quickly leapt up the steps, meaning to run straight to the controls and see if the miniscule amount of time they had would allow them to bridge back to Earth. But Optimus tripped over them, the sheer force of gravity thwarting their grip and pulling him away from the silver mech. He cried out with wide optics as he staggered backwards, crashing into the bridge controls with a loud thud.

  
**_OPTIMUS!!_**

  
The controls sputtered from the onslaught of stimulation. Overhead, the swirling portal flickered once, then twice, then three times over. When the third flicker ended, the swirl shuddered before changing direction, winding back on itself. The holo-screen above the controls fizzled and hitched until the cartograph of the universe suddenly began to expand exponentially. Images of stars flew by like a ship engaged in dark matter drive, hundreds of times faster than by lightyears.

  
A cacophony of beeps and flashing buttons surrounded the Prime, and he shrieked in panic at the sudden chaos as he thrashed to get away. The silver mech scrambled towards him, sliding to his knees to wrap his arms around Optimus and pull him up. Optimus continued to thrash in his arms, magnetic field wild with terror, and he grunted as the other threw all of his weight against him to escape.

  
“ _There!!_ Get _them!!”_

  
Megatron’s helm whirled towards the shrill voice. Guards from the second wave had surfaced and were approaching them. His spark lurched, and he looked up at the seizing cartograph, image within still expanding to a size he could not imagine. He looked towards the bridge, now spinning backwards, but seemingly still functional. His optics whipped back and forth from the portal to the cartograph to the Prime to the guards that were soon to detain them.

  
This was their only chance. And if it killed them… Well, it was about time.

  
The ex-warlord looked down with dim optics, pressing a light kiss to the side of the Prime’s helm and nuzzling against it.

  
**_I love you._**

  
With that, Megatron roared as he threw himself and Optimus into the portal, both of them disappearing into the swirl. Instantly following, the green mass of the portal lurched, and the arch groaned. Beneath it the ground shook, making the even surface quake and crack. The guards approaching halted in place, screeching as they tried to stay upright. They didn’t have long to observe the unusual phenomenon. Three nanoseconds later, the space bridge exploded, a bright orange mushroom cloud rising into the atmosphere and a shockwave knocking all beings off their feet.

  
The smoke would soon clear, but any memory that would be left of the last existing Cybertronians in this universe would be the scattered pieces of a metal arch.


	2. Trust

Everything’s different about this cell.

  
It’s bright, and spacious. Light pours in from the barred window above their helms, casting down on a gleaming metal floor. Stretching towards the bars that mark the only way in and out, it cuts a rough square of light into a section of the ‘door.’ The bars are spotless, polished titanium if Megatron were to make a guess. There was no rust on them, no jagged edges, and no dust blowing in from the draft of the catacombs. Not a speck of dirt lay beneath their peds anymore. Any grime in here came from their frames, layered over their paint so thick that it engrained itself into their plating. Megatron’s silver plating now permanently had a strong tint of red, and his bonded’s vibrant colors were dulled to the color of rust. They looked like scrapheaps in a throne room.

  
But the barred caves they had been trapped in for so long were gone. The concaved walls that trapped the heat of the billowing fires below had been replaced by a quiet, square cell. Its walls are smooth, flat, and cold to the touch. The metal bench they sit on is the same, so cold and flat that the forgotten sensations surge through him. Megatron takes the opportunity to lean back against them, venting a deep breath of clean air. He revels in the feeling of the cold. It numbs the phantom heat that sears the scars on his back plates. His beat-down, weary frame finally gets the chance to ease its tension. Not all of it, he’d be a fool to let his guard down now, but part of the way. It’s better than nothing.

  
_Confusion._

  
For Optimus Prime, it’s different. The new surroundings pound at his senses, each demanding the undivided attention he did not have. The shiny metal walls are familiar, they remind him of the experimentation ward. But then again, they were not. These walls were silver. The ward’s walls were white. Everything was clean and neat, which was also familiar. But he was still dirty. Usually they hosed and sterilized him before bringing him into the ward. The slab they sat on was held up on both sides by chains, not wheels that could be moved from one station to the next. There were no machines beeping and buzzing around him, which meant that the room was silent, which also meant that the voices and noises he was hearing were coming from his own processor.

  
It also meant that the floor beneath them wasn’t actually moving.

  
_Confusion._

  
The emotion pulses over the bond in its own beat, gaining strength with each passing klik. What was once a barely pronounced flicker had become a pounding force that boomed like thunder. Megatron’s optics flicker back online, and he tips his helm towards his bonded. Optimus’ leg struts are drawn up against his chest, and his arms are wrapped tightly around them. His optics are wide, fearful, and unmoving from their direction. The Decepticon’s spark clenches and ripples with anger, a gesture that goes unnoticed by the mentally distanced Prime. He’s not shaking, but it’s clear that such will begin soon if he does nothing. Megatron forces his anger out of the way, reaching out and across their bond to grab ahold of the other’s spark.

  
**_Where are you, my Prime?_**

  
Something thunderous and powerful evades all the chaos of the new surroundings, overshadowing them like a storm. For a blissful moment, they fade into the background, and he feels a warm and stoic presence take ahold of his spark. Then, his audials register what was said, and he realizes it was a question. One that his bonded always asked first. No greeting, no insult of honor, no sweet nothings, or promise of escape. It was to draw him back to reality, because only his Megatron ever asked such a silly question. _Where have you wandered in those horrible daydreams? Where has the darkness in your mind taken you?_ Their sacred question, spoken softly in the reign of thunder over their bond, because gentle had never been a strong suit of a gladiator unless it was for an archivist.

  
Megatron feels the exact moment when the Prime’s attention shifts to him. Not in a physical action, but when the flickering spark he holds reaches back to twine over his tendrils. Knowing now it wouldn’t cause an anxiety attack, he takes the chance to wrap his magnetic field around his bonded.

  
**_The floor moves._**

  
There is no voice that accompanies the words he hears. Even in bond, Optimus is nothing more than a whisper of what he’d once been. Like his sanity. The sensation brings forth new rage at the result of their captors’ wrath. But as quickly as it comes, it is rejected, as he remembers the fragile tendrils still attached to his own. His optics focus downward, to the floor beneath them that stood perfectly still. Megatron tried to imagine what it might look like from the other mech’s point of view, wavering and wobbling unsteadily as if the ground were manipulated by an unseen quake. It made him dizzy after a few moments. Megatron couldn’t imagine what it was doing to his bonded’s already twisted mind.

  
**_Look at me._**

  
The voices don’t let him hear it at first, so the words register slowly. When they do, he tears his optics away from the floor and ever so cautiously tilts his helm to the side.

  
_Fear._

  
Always afraid, because it could be another trick. Another illusion. Another monster waiting to play.

  
But the _real_ Megatron never wavered. His image was still amidst the spinning world around them.

  
The silver mech waits patiently as his bonded’s blue optics, bright with terror, come to focus on him. When the other doesn’t flinch away, he lifts his right servo in between the two of them. His knuckles face the Prime, and his digits bend inward at an acute angle, pointing the sharp ends towards himself. Optimus’ optics contract in the slightest. This came after their question. It was their joining, the initiation of physical contact through a gesture alien to their captors.

  
_Fear… Longing._

  
Gradually loosening the grip he held on his leg struts, Optimus lifts his right servo. The noises and voices in his helm suddenly whirl into an uproar, instincts shrilly screaming ‘DANGER! DANGER! PULL AWAY!’ The shining walls around him waver and flicker, as if on fire. The cold that bites at his frame jolts his nerves at a higher intensity. He whimpers, his arm strut shaking in the air as he hesitates. N-No. This was the _real_ Megatron. He did not waver, he spoke silly questions, and he made silly gestures. It had to be. Clenching his denta so hard it shot pain through his intake, he pushed his servo out inch by inch. His processor spun and squealed. It hurt so much.

  
_**M-Megatron…**_

  
A voice accompanied the plea. Megatron recognized it. It was a cry of pain, begging for rescue. The other mech’s entire frame shook almost violently, and the tendrils connecting their sparks were pulled and plucked by darkness, loosening their grip. He fought not to flinch. If he could, he would swoop his arms around the other and never let him go, claw at his visions and destroy them. Drown them in his fury. But that’s just not the way it worked. The Decepticon couldn’t do that, not if he wanted to help. He had to let his bonded initiate the first touch. He had to be patient.

  
Optimus’ dusted servo brushed against the back of Megatron’s knuckles. The touch was warm and solid, and the Prime gasped. He nearly clenched his optics shut, instinctively waiting for an inevitable blow. The silver mech’s spark pulsed when he didn’t instantly pull away. His lip plates almost pull into a smile when the Prime’s frame begins to lose tension, and blue optics focus on their touching armor. Then, he starts to roll it against the silver servo. Megatron immediately imitates the gesture, following his pace as the back of their servos slide against one another. Their smallest digits connect as the insides of their servos touch. Then, like the gears inside a clock, their servos fall together, and their digits intertwine. That strange, alienated gesture they created to never lose one another, even against their captors.

  
The thunderous storm hovering over the chaotic noise in his processor clashes, and suddenly they’re gone. The moving walls and floors and bars of their cell have faded, given way to the steady shelter of his bonded. He’s left in the quiet, the warm rain pouring over him that’s soon to turn to coolant tears, and he sobs. _It really is you._

  
_Relief._

  
As soon as the emotion floods their bond, Megatron lets a small smile overtake his face plates. He turns his frame off the wall towards his bonded, ignoring the echoes of pain that come with it. Carefully, he tightens his grip on the other’s servo, and extends the other arm strut in an offer.

  
**_There you are._**

  
Without the voices to distract him, Optimus recognizes the offer. He takes it without hesitation. The bench creaks as the rusted Prime curls over onto his servo and knee joints, crawling to the other side. Calmly, gently, Megatron pulls the other toward his frame. He lets one leg strut rest on the inside of the bench while the other hangs off, allowing his bonded to situate himself in between. His helm comes to rest on silver chest plating as he turns on his side, backplates facing the prison bars. Megatron begins to stroke up and down his spinal strut with the empty servo as the Prime’s leg struts stretch down the rest of the bench. This was so much nicer than before. This was warm, this was gentle. This was quiet, this was real. He was safe. He was… protected. Yes, he could pretend that for a while. As long as he was in Megatron’s arms, he was protected.

  
Something shifts against his chest plates, and Megatron looks down. The Prime’s helm is craned up and those blue optics are upon him once again. They project relief and a rare edge of love, grateful for this stolen moment of peace from his demons. The silver mech’s small smile holds steady, and he squeezes the servo in his grip once again.

  
**_It’s alright… Rest now._**

  
Optimus quietly sighs, but the emotions in his optics do not change. His frame has lost much of its tension and tremors, and his visions had ceased for now. But he would not recharge. He would dare not recharge. Instead, his helm relaxes and nuzzles against Megatron’s chest, and he pulls their joined servos in front of it. He focuses on them, his optics tracing their outline. The silver mech listens as his vents slow to a regular pace. He fends off a sigh as he strokes his bonded’s back armor. This would not last as long as he wanted it to. Something would happen, something would set them off. Something would scare him, and he would pull away. And their tip-toed dance of pain and patience would start all over again.

  
It was best to enjoy the moments now while they lasted.


	3. Bemusement

“… not sure how long I’ll be here. Remain on standby. Please, no one else follow me until I can confirm if they are mentally stable.”

The voice was quiet in nature, higher in tone with a professional air like Ratchet’s voice had. Megatron’s spark seized and he sat up immediately, crimson optics fixed on the barred wall in front of him. _Unicron’s Pit, no, not again…_

Optimus’ field exploded instantly in panic, jumping up with his bonded and spinning towards the only way in and out of the cell. Wild optics were aghast with horror as his frame began to shake.

_Fear._

_**Dawn?! Dawn?!** _

He keened into their bond voicelessly, the tendrils of his spark immediately shooting out in all directions to seek out their only source of comfort before it was torn away. That’s just how the routine worked. When dawn broke, the fires were lit, the lights in the lab came on, and another day of torture and slavery would start all over. Reminded of the routine, the voices were beginning to return, whispering in the dark depths to remind him that they never truly left.

Megatron’s optics flickered downward to his bonded. Seeing his servo still pressed against the other’s back, he curled it around the thinned waist of the Prime and rumbled. It brought his attention back, if not momentarily.

**_Won’t let them take you. Won’t let them hurt you again._ **

His bonded stilled, and they locked on each other’s gaze. This wasn’t the fiery tombs of their captors. There were so many differences. But who’s to say how they would be treated here? It wasn’t for the silver mech to tell, and there was no way his bonded could help on that response. So out of learned instinct, they took in every detail the could of one another, committing it to memory no matter how bad a condition the processor was in. Just in case it might be the last.

Ped steps sounded closer by the nanosecond as they ticked by. Forgetting the blatant fact that they were not by the labs anymore, Optimus’ field fritzed against the fear and eventual spark break they would bring. He howled, burrowing himself against his bonded and clinging to the catches in silver armor. Megatron wrapped his arms around him and held tight. _Not again. Primus and Unicron, don’t do this._

The ped steps quickened, as if in response to the Prime’s voice. Then, as if the mech behind the ped steps had triggered it, the wall beyond the bars whined as it pulled away to the side. Rage that had been pent up in his spark for too long surfaced in a moment, and a growl rose from his chest as he glared at the moving wall, waiting and bemoaning what enemy may stand on the other side. Optimus tremored in his grasp, just barely peering up over his arm strut to look.

Gears grinding to a halt, the door fell away to reveal the mech behind it. They hadn’t had a clue what they’d been expecting. But what they got confused Megatron as much as it unnerved him. It was a lone mech, Autobot by the looks of his slim frame and the softer features of his facial plating. He was nothing like any of the mecha that had found them and put them in this cell. Like Ratchet, his color scheme was orange and white, but he was a lot more orange than white. His optics were much larger and rounded than either of them had ever seen, reminding Megatron of a time long ago when he’d seen humans wearing rounded glass lenses circled with wire on their faces. It gave him the impression that this bot was wearing glasses.

At first, he paused, round blue optics seeming to take in their every detail. The positions of their frames, the tension of their limbs, the fear in their magnetic fields, the expressions on the faces—the bot’s optics locked with his, and Megatron’s spark spun with a primitive defensive wrath. Clutching Optimus tighter to his frame, the Decepticon bared his sharp denta and snarled loudly. Immediately, the bot’s expression turned into something near fear and he leaned back, as if surprised by the reaction of the prisoners before him. Something in the silver mech’s spark flickered with satisfaction for the first time in years. But then, the bot walked to the side wall, pressed a button, and the front wall began to scrape shut. The prisoners stiffened. This had never happened before, it wasn’t part of the routine. They didn’t know whether it was relieving or terrifying. Slowly, the bot turned from the wall and walked toward the bars of their cell. Each step he took made them that much more uneasy about the situation. Optimus inhaled shakily and Megatron snarled again. This time the bot stopped, right in front of the door.

“Hello.”

He spoke softly with a kind undertone. The prisoners jolted, alarmed and confused.

“I apologize for startling you. It’s alright, there’s no need to be frightened.”

The bot paused, optics traveling over them both before he smiled, the gesture as compassionate as his vocals.

“I’m Rung. I’m the official psychologist of Earth’s Cybertronian City. You are our newest arrivals, I assume?”

_Psychologist? Newest arrivals? Cybertronian City?_

After so long as nothing but prisoners, the new information hit him like an onslaught. All Megatron knew for sure is they had escaped the catacombs by the paint on their armor, had run to the first space bridge they could get to without being caught, and he threw them through. After that, they’d fallen into the middle of a busy street. So many alien sensations of a city at once had made the silver mech’s processor spin on an axis. Optimus had curled into himself on the pavement and sheltered his audials and optics with his arms, screaming and crying in fear.

Rung’s expression sobered in the slightest as he watched the silver mech’s optics flicker in anger, fear, and confusion. The red and blue mech he held only watched him with the same terror, as if he hadn’t heard a word he’d said. He tried a different approach, reaching into his subspace to take out two cubes.

“I’ve brought you both some energon. You haven’t had anything since arriving, I assume, and before that we haven’t the slightest idea when your last meal was… I suppose it’s safe to infer that a meal is in order?”

Crimson optics of the silver mech flicked from the cubes in his servos to his face plates in rapid succession, guarded and untrusting. But if Rung looked close enough, he believed he could see hunger in their depths as well. He smiled again, bending down to place them on the floor.

“You may have them when you’re ready.”

Both prisoners watched as the psyche bot pushed the cubes through the bars, leaving them on the other side for them to reach. He stood, backing up a pace to let them come and claim, but neither of them moved. He sighed lightly.

Megatron’s processor tore with indecision. When was the last time either of them had a ration? It had to be at least a couple solar cycles by now. His energon levels had cycled down to the red zone, and he knew his bonded was at the same. He couldn’t deny hunger, nor the hunger he knew Optimus felt. But to get any closer to those Primus-forsaken bars…

_Confusion. Stress. Fear._

Optimus suddenly moaned, tearing his servos away from his bonded’s armor to clutch at his helm and cycle his optics shut. Megatron’s spark flared and he focused once more on the other.

**_Where are you, my Prime?_ **

The Prime leaned against him and shook his helm over and over in his servos, as if trying to get rid of a nasty thought.

_**No dreams… No dawn... No dreams.** _

_He’s overwhelmed._ Optimus mumbled to himself the most when he was highly burdened with information. He should’ve known the presence of this new bot and a break in the routine would do this. Immediately, Megatron tightened the grip on his bonded and began to him rock back and forth.

**_It’s not dawn. Won’t let them take you._ **

Rung’s spark sank as he watched the scene unfold. He’d had his suspicions, now it was confirmed the red and blue mech most likely had a severe mental illness. However, after observing their interactions towards him as well as each other, it was clear he would have no permission to aid until he at least gained the silver mech’s trust. Trying to avoid startling them, he spoke once again.

“Your—companion. I can see that he is unwell… I am medically trained. Is there anything I can do to assist?”

At the word ‘medically,’ the red and blue mech gasped loudly, yanking himself up from the silver mech. His optics frantically scanned the area, scanned Rung, as if looking for incoming danger. The silver mech did not reach out for him, instead crooned and rumbled to the other, gazing at him forlornly. When the other mech’s blue optics finally came back to him, the silver mech held the back of his servo up to him. Rung recycled his optics at the gesture, watching with growing curiosity as the silver mech’s companion mirrored the gesture. Their servos connected, then flipped to twine. _Perhaps it is their alternate, developed way of reassurance?_ The psyche bot didn’t get to question the notion further before choked sobs caught his attention. The red and blue mech fell into his companion’s arms, the sheer force of his sobs causing him to tremble hard as he cried into the crook of the other’s shoulder. The silver mech rumbled once again, rocking back and forth, before his crimson optics focused on the psyche bot. And oh dear, they looked particularly angry.

“You’re scaring him.”

Rung almost jumped at the words. Dark depths of sharpened steel were wielded by the voice of the silver mech. He’d not heard many voices so deep they resonated throughout a room. The only other bot he could immediately think of that could even equal it was Optimus Prime. Though he shivered at the underlying threat of the tone, his spark leapt. _This is a good sign!_ He’d asked a question, and he’d been answered. _One of them is mentally stable! This can be worked with!_ He met the jagged gaze of crimson optics and fought not to flinch. _Now if only we could gain enough trust to find out where they came from._

Rung decided that was enough strain to put on the newcomers for today.

“My humblest apologies. I did not mean to put your companion through more stress.”

Lifting his servos in a gesture of peace, Rung backed another few paces to the side wall, reaching out to key in the code for release. Megatron recycled his optics as his threat was heeded once again, and the wall behind the bot slid open. Large, rounded blue optics focused on the both of them.

“I’ll leave you in peace… And I’ll be back tomorrow with more energon. If either of you need anything, Fortress Maximus will be on his post. Just give a shout, and he’ll contact me immediately.”

With kind, quirky smile, the psyche bot stepped out and the wall slowly slid shut. It left Megatron and Optimus alone, troubled, and completely bemused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, it's a Rung. 
> 
>  
> 
> He got no clue what he's in for.


	4. Steps

**_… Nightfall?_ **

  
Stressed and twitchy from the accidental relapse with a flashback of the lab, the Prime’s damp faceplates surfaced from Megatron’s shoulder to stare at the door. Optimus’ broken processor could only assume that nightfall had come while the lights were still lit. Why else would danger come and be gone? But that still made no sense. Dark meant night. Light meant day. He knew that. So why was it light and the danger had fled? Trying to piece together the answer was like trying to make the walls stop waving ‘hello,’ it just didn’t work.

  
His bonded’s servo grasped tightly at his cannon arm, causing Megatron to put an abrupt halt to his train of thought and peel his gaze away from the door and down. Lip plates twitched into a frown when he saw blue optics flicker like static. That’s what happened when he tried to think with a broken processor. He reached over, cupping the side of his bonded’s helm and stroking his thumb digit over an audial finial. Optimus recycled his optics, mind going blank at the familiarly pleasurable touch. He couldn’t help leaning into his bonded’s digit but couldn’t for the life of Primus remember why he liked it so much.

Shifting in the bigger mech’s grasp, the rusted Prime looked up at his bonded, optics pleading for him to offer an explanation. Megatron only smiled, pulling away to wipe the coolant streaks dry. In response his bonded huffed, optics disappointed and indignant. _You won’t tell me why, and now you stop?_ Megatron would’ve laughed if he could.

  
Outside their cell window, the sun had rotated westward, and the light that flooded their space now shined on the better part of their barred wall. Something shimmered and glinted in Megatron’s vision, reminding him of fire too quickly to stop himself from jerking away. Optimus jumped with him, and they both whipped around towards the only exit to find the two cubes of energon, sitting silently in their places and refracting the light. Megatron’s flared plating smoothed out as he realized the simple mistake, and his spark sent a soft apology over their bond.

  
For a moment, neither of them moved. They stared at the cubes that sat inches from the bars, there for the taking and patiently waiting. The silver mech’s fist curled. Did they have to sit there and mock them as they starved? Right next to the bars that could open and separate them in a nanosecond’s notice? A quiet, but piercing gutter filled the room, as if on que with his thoughts, when the silver mech’s tanks once again churned on its fumes. Suddenly too tired to be annoyed with it, Megatron’s optics flickered over to the other. His bonded’s gaze was already on him, glowing with empathy. He may have lost his sanity, but he could remember and understand hunger. The Prime looked back towards the cubes, and a long moment of silence followed before his own tanks churned too.

  
Something in his spark whined at the sight. His gaze flickered back to the cubes one more time, and after contemplation, Megatron heaved a long sigh.

  
_One of these cycles, he is going to be the end of me._

  
Optimus perked up at attention when his bonded leaned forward, placing each ped on the steel floor individually before hauling his heavy frame upward. His helm spun as he rose, disoriented from standing after resting for so long, and it made him press his knuckles against his forehelm with a light sneer. When he found his balance, his servo fell away, and he turned towards the bars.

  
**_DANGER!!_**

  
A wordless cry shrieked behind him and panic suddenly flooded his field as the other’s field swarmed around it. Megatron turned around as Optimus’ servos clawed at his arms, optics wild and desperate.

  
**_DANGER!! DO NOT GO!!_**

  
“Shhh.”

  
The silver mech soothed as he learned down to his bonded, sending as much reassurance and love over the bond as he could. When his spark tendrils reached, the were immediately grasped. Optimus whined softly as he pressed a kiss to the other’s forehead.

  
**_Both of us hungry._**

  
He was held in place, and he sighed as his bonded nuzzled at his helm.

  
**_We need energon._**

  
Focusing his attention on that one and only task, Megatron squeezed at the Prime’s servos before pulling away, forcing his way through the ache that ripped at his chest. _We will NOT be separated. No one is here. The cubes were offered to us. We will NOT be separated._ Slowly, step by small step, Megatron pried himself away from the bench they’d found as their safety to approach the cubes on the floor. One step, two steps. His frame blocked the sunlight, and the cubes were sheltered in darkness. It reminded him of the last few precious moments of night before the lights came on and day would begin. Three steps, four steps. Optimus was paralyzed, optics cycled as wide as they could go as he watched his silver warrior fall into the rippling background. His joints and struts were jerked so stiff they creaked and throbbed. If he went any farther, he would not be able to find him again, and in his shrunken world that was unfathomable. Five steps, six steps. The cubes were right there, right in front of him. All he had to do was reach down and grab them. But the bars were right there too. If he went any closer there was a chance his legs could give out. He’d be down, and the bars would clang. The guards would hear, and they’d come looking. They’d pry open the rusted door that groaned and silky hands would grab at him, drag him out, crack the bolts of energy at his back as he struggled to—

  
“T-T-TRRON!!”

  
He gasped, yanked out of his flashback by the sheer desperation in the other’s spark that held onto him. Megatron’s processor kicked back into gear, driving him to kneel and rip the cubes away from the bars looming overhead. He then stumbled back to the bench, optics unseeing as they stared ahead and pressing himself into the corner as his vents worked on overdrive. Silence surrounded them both, save for his puffing ventilations.

  
**_M-Megatron?_**

  
He did not respond, still trying to regain his bearings. Nanoseconds ticked by like the moon that crawled over the night sky. The back of a black servo appeared in front of him, making him recycle his optics in surprise. He turned his helm to find his bonded facing him, faceplates damp with more coolant as he held out the back of his servo. Inhaling and exhaling a shaky vent, Megatron raised his servo and pressed them together, letting them roll against each other to connect. He sighed in deeply felt relief. _We will not be separated. Not ever again._ The side of the Prime’s lip plating twitched, a gesture that Megatron hoped was him trying to grin. Then his optics flicked down to his other arm, and he followed the gaze. Two cubes of energon were still clenched in his grasp, and he suddenly remember the reason behind forcing himself to the other side of their cell. He held out the nearest cube.

  
**_Energon, my Prime?_**

  
_Yearning._

  
Optimus only hesitated once before grasping the cube in both servos, optics showing the depth of their famish. Before he could drink, Megatron placed his digits over top of it to attract his attention.

  
**_Intake slowly._**

  
The silver mech only took his servo away when the Prime nodded, tipping his cube back to take a small sip. But as soon as the life-giving liquid flowed over his glossa, Megatron groaned, struggling to pull it away. His bonded mirrored him, entire frame shivering in near ecstasy as it welcomed the fluid in its tanks. They took turns, watching the other as they struggled to take small sips and not down the rest of the cube in one swig, falling into the blissful satisfaction of a full tank for the first time in eons.

  
Neither of them paid any mind to the human-sized security camera hidden in the far ceiling corner that had been observing their actions since the psyche bot had left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter's short, I know, I'll make up for it next chapter!


	5. To Speak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a longer chapter!! Enjoy!!  
> (and sob a river while you're at it ;)

It was long into the night cycle before Megatron came to a realization.

  
The bench was an acutely uncomfortable surface to lay on, but it was better than the floor. He propped himself up on his side, stretching out his arm for his bonded to use to lay his helm against. Back once again facing the bars and burrowed into his chest plates, Optimus fought a losing battle against recharge. Megatron wouldn’t try to coax him into that state, he knew what visions awaited there for both of them. But he wouldn’t stop him if he did loose the battle, he could use a simple rest, no matter how long it lasted before he would start screaming and thrashing. He would wake him before that happened anyway. For now he cradled the Prime close, more relaxed under the cover of nightfall that meant the lights were all turned out. His servo unconsciously messaged little circles into the other’s hip plating, processor going over the recent events that were so entirely different from what he’d become used to. He’d spent _the whole day_ with Optimus, which was an answered prayer in itself. They’d kept each other on the surface of reality, shared their first full cubes of energon together, and— _Holy Primus_. His optics widened a fraction as he focused his absent gaze on his bonded. _You spoke today._

  
_Pride._

  
Optimus Prime had not spoken since the first time he’d been taken to the experimentation ward. Time had been lost to him ever since they’d arrived at the catacombs and his chronometer was destroyed, he could not even remember the last time that was. What he remembered very clearly is that their treatment was different from the start. The ex-warlord had been dragged to the pits of billowing fire, while the Prime was taken to the labs, hidden by a mountain of boulders that towered over the cave cells. The only way one could tell something lay hidden inside was the lights that escaped from the cracks. Like the fires, they flickered out when nightfall arrived and came on when dawn broke. At the end of the first day, Megatron had been shoved back into his cave beaten, leaking, and weary, but his hardened spirit had survived… When Optimus was returned, he was spotless, frame shining and seemingly untouched. But he stood too straight, his movements were rigid and jerky. His faceplates were emotionless. His optics broken and petrified. If he were honest with himself, it had terrified him. The Prime was as strong-willed and stubborn as him, if not more. Whatever they had done to break him so quickly, so easily… He might never know what it truly was, because that was the day Optimus ceased talking. They whispered over their bond in snipped words and short phrases, that was the only place which was safe.

  
Each day it only grew worse. He stopped smiling. He stopped fighting. He stopped hoping for escape. His optics grew distant with the only two emotions that remained: fear and misery. Megatron would’ve never been able to predict how bad it would get for his bonded. Not until the nightfall came that he heard a ghastly bellow cut through the catacombs. Like the other prisoners, he’d crawled to the bars to peer out, back plating sore from the welts and brands scorched into them. It was only when he saw the flashes of red and blue that he realized the tortured voice belonged to Optimus. He’d blocked off the bond, Megatron hadn’t even noticed until now, but he immediately knew why. The Prime threw himself against the arms that held him, he clawed, pulled, dug his peds into the ground until they had to yank him forward again. The ex-warlord just barely had enough time to get out of the way before the bars opened and the Prime was thrown in, door slamming behind him. Megatron watched in staggering shock and spark break as the once mighty Optimus Prime wailed as if his limbs were being torn off, convulsing and seizing on the rust-covered ground. It was a long time before his frame fell into a sense of stillness, limp against the ground except for the shudders that occasionally shook him. Wondering if he was close to permanent shutdown, Megatron had crept next to him, gently stroking his cheek plate damp from coolant tears. It was then that blue optics onlined, staring without focus after recycling three times in a row. _Optimus Prime broke_ , he’d said over the bond when he finally regained focus for a few nanoseconds. He repeated it two times over, clumsily tracing the worn Decepticon sigil on the ex-warlord’s chest, and Megatron knew that was it. They had driven him insane.

  
Shaking his helm to rid himself of a replay of the catacombs, the silver mech smiled at his bonded. He spoke today. Granted, it was his name, and an abbreviated version of it, but it was better than silence. It meant that there was still hope for Optimus. There was still a chance for him to heal, for both of them to heal, and perhaps find a way to live again.

  
Live… Perhaps if we weren’t still in a prison cell, we could try.

  
Their newest captors came to mind. Or better yet, the bot that had come to them earlier today. As he looked back on it, he thought it safe to assume that perhaps the bot meant them no harm. As if he could’ve won a fight against the silver mech anyway. He’d tear to shreds anyone who looked at his bonded the wrong way. Though better yet, this bot, Rung, he should probably call him since he had a name, had called himself a psychologist, a specialist of the Cybertronian mind. _Perhaps… there is a chance he could help Optimus…?_ His spark could’ve pulsed at the idea if his instincts weren’t screaming bloody murder. The mere thought of anyone besides himself near the Prime was as horrifying as it was enraging. He fought off a grumble, vision returning to his bonded as he saw that the other had powered down into the state between online and stasis. He swore at himself to keep quiet.

  
One thing was clear to the ex-warlord. If he didn’t at least try to get his act together and initiate contact with this Rung, nothing would ever change. Optimus had always been his level processor, and now that he’d lost his sanity, well, it was up to him.

  
_“I’ll be back tomorrow with more energon.”_

  
Tomorrow, yes. Tomorrow he would try. He would speak with this Rung, answer his questions, and find out whether his credentials of psychology were truth or lies. But before then, he would have to come up with some kind of a plan. They had to be prepared, just in case this fell through and these bots proved no better than their previous captors. Megatron tapped a single clawed digit against his bonded’s hip plating as his mind worked through what would need to be formulated by tomorrow. _Names_. The thought came randomly, and he nearly dismissed it until he turned it over. Yes, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to give themselves an alias. So far, no one had recognized either of them, or so he came to believe. It would stand to reason that in case anyone here would instead know them by name, they should change. _But to what?_ A good question, one to which gave Megatron a long pause. They had to be something simple, more ordinary but not too different. Asking his bonded to suddenly remember a new name was going to be challenge enough, much less one that was nothing like his original. This time he didn’t fight the grumble, but Optimus barely stirred. _Wait a klik, original?_ His original name was not Optimus Prime, it was Orion. _That could suffice, it’s not so uncommon._ As for his own name… The events of earlier today resurfaced, and the first word Optimus had spoken since their first capture brought a smile to his denta.

  
**_Optimus Prime, you are a genius!_**

  
Unconscious to the fact that he’d said it over the bond, he almost jumped when Optimus startled into awareness. He groaned quietly, optics bleary and dim as he tried to focus on his bonded. Megatron’s face plates flushed, and he sent an apology over their bond. Optimus only groaned again, peering at him with an expression so near irritation it reminded him of a time before they’d ever been captured. His spark pulsed as the Prime flopped back onto the bench, just about to give up against recharge before he suddenly remembered his plans and carefully shook his bonded’s shoulder.

  
_**Where are you, my Prime?**_

  
He waited until the other rolled over to peer up at him and inferred by the almost complete expression he was given that if the Prime could curse him to the Pits, he would.

  
**_Sit with me._**

  
Optimus recycled his optics, furrowing his metal brows. Megatron was about to show him what he meant before the Prime sat up, pushing himself to the other side of the bench and sitting cross-legged to face the other. Grateful that he understood, he mirrored the gesture and threaded the digits of their servos together so that their arms rested against their left knees, connected in the middle. The digits of his opposite servo tapped against his thigh as he tried to figure out how to go about this. _He’s insane, not a sparkling. He may understand me to a point… I suppose I’ll just have to see how this goes._

  
First, he used his free servo to point to himself, then at Optimus.

  
**_I am Megatron. You are Optimus. Correct?_**

  
The Prime immediately nodded, then gestured to Megatron with his own free servo before gesturing to himself as well.

  
**_Real Megatron. Real Optimus._**

  
Megatron nodded with him, past the point of questioning why he always called him real after figuring it must have something to do with his visions. He then pointed towards the barred wall.

  
**_Remember Rung from the day cycle? Skinny orange bot with big round optics?_**

  
Once again, he nodded, this time a bit slower with his metal brows furrowing as he did so.

  
**_Look like Ratchet, but not Ratchet._**

  
The silver mech blinked at that but did not question it. Actually, Optimus had a point. Rung reminded him a lot of the old medic after all. He wondered for a nanosecond if the reminder hurt his bonded. By the looks of the Prime, it hadn’t.

  
**_Yes, he’s not Ratchet… He’s a psychologist._**

  
Optimus’ helm tilted a couple degrees to the side.

  
**_Mad mech healer?_**

  
Megatron couldn’t help it as his lip plates quirked up into a smile. If it hadn’t been Optimus who’d fallen victim to this predicament, he would’ve been highly entertained hearing the ramblings of an insane mecha from day to day… _Besides Starscream._

  
**_Yes, he a mad mech healer._**

  
Optimus’ lip plate twitched again, and they shared a near content moment of silence. But then the Prime’s optics recycled, as if coming to his own realization. Megatron watched carefully as his optics contracted and dimmed before dilating. Over the bond, he felt a sudden swirl of comprehension and shock.

  
**_… Optimus Prime broke._**

  
His optics fell to the ground as he turned his gaze away, field colored in misery. Megatron squeezed the servo in his grasp, pushing acceptance and love over their bond and leaning towards his bonded.

  
**_Optimus Prime can be fixed._**

  
He whispered voicelessly. The Prime hesitated before allowing his optics to rise and meet the crimson dots of light that stared back. Bright, encompassing, understanding, and just as weary as Optimus was of misery.

  
**_How?_**

  
The ex-warlord hesitated for a moment, shoulders falling as the burden of a lifetime rested on him. _Now, isn’t that the question we both want an answer to._

  
**_… I do not know._**

  
He relented. There was no lying to his bonded, who lost any sense of false hope long ago… But nevertheless, there was a chance for hope once again. Megatron rolled his shoulders back with a risen state of confidence stolen from the days of the war, desperate to cling to that chance.

  
**_But I believe he wants to help us._**

  
Using his free servo, he slowly reached out to carefully caress the Prime’s cheek plate.

  
**_You’ve suffered enough, Optimus._**

  
The Prime exhaled shakily, leaning into the clawed servo and forgetting to cycle away the coolant that gathered at his optics. A mad mech healer. He remembered the concept from a time so long ago it felt like a long lost thought. What would it be like? To cease hearing voices at almost every waking moment that did not exist? To gaze at surroundings that stood still? To go through a day without any flashbacks or dark memories to draw him away from reality? To simply exist in a world turned right side up with Megatron? It… It was unfathomable. Inconceivable. It was… too good to be true. To be sane again with his bonded felt like the most improbable dream.

  
Maybe… Maybe for now, he could pretend it wasn’t impossible. That such an idea was in their grasp, and to achieve it, the way did indeed lie with the mad mech healer. Yes, he could pretend that for now. The idea make his spark feel funny. Less heavy and broken, like something were lifting it and caressing it like Megatron did. Optimus focused his weary gaze on his bonded, his lip plates twitching as he nodded once into the silver servo.

  
**_Mad mech healer help fix Optimus Prime._**

  
His spark leapt and danced around its partner’s tendrils. Perhaps this meant that Optimus still felt hope after all. _Or, at least, wants to feel hope._ He would assume the more positive option for now and go from there. Megatron let his servo linger over his bonded’s face before letting it drop, thinking over his next few words before speaking.

  
**_Mad mech healer, Rung, will want to know about us before helping._**

  
In response, Optimus’ helm tipped to the side and he recycled his optics. He then gestured to Optimus and to himself once again.

  
**_Rung will ask our names. You are Orion. I am Tron._**

  
Immediately, the Prime’s optics widened as his metal brows furrowed in complete confusion. He stared at the silver mech for a long time before slowly shaking his helm and copying the previous gesture.

  
**_No… Megatron. Optimus._**

  
Megatron’s optics fell to their crossed legs before them as he grit his denta quietly, trying not to let any frustration take over the happy moment they had just shared. If his processor were a separate mech, it would be whacking him over the helm. He would do well to remember, after all, that this would be no easy task for Optimus to comprehend. He had established what would always stay the same and clung to those constants. Now, one of the most important ones was about to change. He made a gesture in between shaking and nodding his helm.

  
**_No… Well, yes. You are Optimus. I am Megatron. But Rung cannot know that._**

  
Optimus recycled his optics again. Megatron took it as a cue to get on with it.

  
**_Remember before… Remember our war? Before we ended it on the Nemesis?_**

  
The silver mech froze when he felt the other’s spark flare over their bond. He internally cursed himself, convinced that he’d caused a flashback and waited for him to react. To his surprise, none came, instead the Prime’s optics drifted away, and his expression fell into something resembling sadness.

  
**_Yes._**

  
Overly relieved that it had not triggered anything worse, he rumbled his engines to regain the other’s attention before continuing.

  
**_I think Rung is an Autobot. We know war ended, but Rung and other mechs here might not. Telling him I am Megatron and you are Optimus might put us in danger of attacks again._**

  
Optimus’ optics snapped back to him at the word “danger.” He knew that word very well. If nothing else, he would heed the meaning behind _that_. His optics contracted from their original nervous stare, as if coming to terms with what was just said.

  
**_No danger… Megatron pretend to be Tron, Optimus pretend to be Orion?_**

  
Megatron’s smile returned and widened, and he nodded briskly.

  
**_Precisely, my Prime. Yes._**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you're gonna make your gone crazy Prime pretend he's someone else... to a psychologist of all bots. Got it.


	6. Chances

Whether either of them had slept more than a groon or two, they didn’t know. Much less did they care when the night terrors came to haunt them. Megatron gave up on trying to power down after the seventh time he was startled online by visions of fire or his bonded’s constant whimpers. He decided instead to keep a close tab on him and let the bond work its remedy as his spark enveloped the other like a blanket. Ascending to bring light to the world, the sun’s slow orbit outside their cell window signaled the passage of night into day. He watched from where they lay, imagining the nanoseconds tick by as it came closer to that time in the routine. When it would all begin again.

  
Dawn came, but no guards came for them. What would’ve been the start to another day of pit seemed to pass by like a monster oblivious to their hiding place. As much as it relieved him, it continued to subconsciously confuse him. His frame was on edge, energy building in his struts and joints as his gaze slid towards the wall beyond the bars, waiting for it to grind and give way to let guards in. He tried to subdue when his limbs would twitch, mindful of the other bot in his arms that had yet to online. Optimus had just fallen back to recharge a little while ago. As hopeless of a thought it might have been, he sheltered the other within his shadow to let him rest through dawn.

  
Rung returned to their cell earlier than he had the cycle before, but long after dawn came and went. When his audials picked up on soft footsteps echoing from the other side of the wall, he sat up and faced it. His spark flared in initial panic, and his servos sought out his bonded’s recharging form instantly. He fought to not pull him closer, instead stroking his side as he sucked in a deep vent to prepare himself for what he was about to do. To his own state of processor, it had to be one of the most insane things he’d do yet, one that every instinct within snarled at him for. _There is no other choice_.

  
The wall ground and creaked against the floor as it shifted to the side. Optimus startled awake with a gasp, a tired moan turning into an anxious whine as he sought out his bonded. A low rumble rose from Megatron’s chest in response, and as the Prime pressed himself against the silver mech’s upper plating, he nuzzled against the top of a dull blue helm. Simultaneously he watched as Rung finally appeared on the other side of the bars. His expression was serious, but soft, accompanied by a small, warm smile familiar from the cycle before.

  
“Good morning.”

  
He spoke kindly as he walked to the side wall and pressed that same button to close the wall again.

  
**_… Mad mech healer… Mad mech healer…_**

  
Frightened and confused, Optimus’ frame began to shake as he tried to focus on the orange mech that wobbled in his vision like a single flame. His hearing subsided as the distracting noises resurfaced. All he could do was cling to the sensation of touch, running his digits over his bonded’s scuffed armor.

Megatron remained still, and his optics narrowed into a scrutinizing gaze as he watched the lean Autobot reach into his subspace pockets.

  
“As promised, I’ve brought more energon. You may have it whenever you please.”

  
Like yesterday, Rung leaned down and slid both cubes through the bars. If he had any reaction towards the fact that the other two cubes were gone, he did not show it. Megatron watched as he stood to his full height and backed away, as if instead showing respect to a need for space. His respect was accurate, and it aided in the silver mech’s resolve. Releasing a vent of hot air, he pushed a kiss to the top of the Prime’s helm.

  
**I love you.**

  
Optimus’ helm snapped up to his. His optics dilated, the confusion and fear in them now joined by an emotion he almost couldn’t express anymore. Megatron felt it when the other’s spark quivered in distress, wanting so badly to say it back but too terrified of what might happen if he did. He understood. And in prayer, he begged that this was the right choice.

  
“Rung.”

  
The psychologist almost jumped, optics widening a fraction as the silver mech spoke once again.

  
“That is your designation?”

  
His momentary surprise turned to joy when he realized the question being asked and Rung let his field relax as his smile grew and he nodded.

  
“Yes, that is my designation… May I know yours?”

  
The silver mech did not answer immediately, instead his piercing red optics scrutinized his frame at least three times. Then, he slowly untangled himself from the grip of his companion and slid to the edge of the bench. The red and blue mech beside him turned to follow, but his optics flickered to Rung and he retreated to the corner of the bench with a fearful cry. Rung’s vents stilled as he observed and sensed a sudden terrible grief in the silver mech’s field. Their gazes locked for a few brief moments, before the silver mech turned away and rose from the bench, taking a few steps forward until they stood about five steps apart. He met Rung’s gaze head on.

  
“Tron.”

  
He said abruptly. Rung almost startled, but this time held his ground even if he was caught unprepared. His gaze skimmed left, finding the red and blue mech who had curled in on himself and was rocking back and forth on the bench.

  
“And, your companion?”

  
Tron’s helm tipped back towards the other, and immediately he sidestepped to block Rung’s view.

  
“Orion.”

  
He growled. The psychologist nodded slowly, mentally noting as he had yesterday the protectiveness of the silver mech over his companion. From a bystander’s perspective, it could’ve definitely been sheer possessiveness that caused it. From an uneducated eye, the silver mech definitely seemed the type. Then again, from the utter weight of emotions he could sense between them and their almost unbreakable codependency, Rung knew it must’ve been triggered by a past event. Or events. He met Tron’s crimson optics again, resolving to respect the mech’s unspoken demand for the sake of making progress.

  
“Alright, Tron. May I ask where you come from?”

  
Tron visibly flinched at the question and let his optics fall to the floor between them, a reaction that Rung did not expect. He did not answer, and silence spread between them. It now seemed that anything involving their origins would be a difficult question. Rung waited patiently, hoping that this hadn’t crossed anymore boundaries that would guarantee eternal silence from the city’s newest arrivals.

  
“If you don’t wish to speak about it now, Tron, it can be discussed at a later date when you’re ready.”

  
At that, the silver mech’s optics returned to meet his. Rung smiled softly.

  
“But I am willing to help you in any way that I can and answer any questions you may have.”

  
A pause ensued as Tron’s optics became distant, as if thinking and mulling over a decision. Then, they turned sharp as he rolled his shoulders back.

  
“You are a psychologist?”

  
Rung immediately nodded.

  
“Yes. I assess, diagnose and treat bots who suffer from psychological distress and mental illness.”

  
Tron’s helm tipped back towards Orion and Rung watched him soften before turning back.

  
“… Orion is my bonded. He needs help.”

  
His optics widened again as his spark pulsed with pain for the bots behind the bars. Rung had his suspicions, but he was not going to make any unnecessary assumptions. With this information, a lot of their codependency made sense. But now he had to focus on what he’d been asked.

  
“Of course, Tron. Do you know specifically what ails him?”

  
Tron’s shoulder’s sunk in the slightest, and he vented deeply as his optics looked from Orion back to Rung.

  
“He has frightening visions and is constantly distracted… I don’t think he can process correctly most of what he sees and hears.”

  
Immediately, Rung’s optics drifted as his processor analyzed the symptoms and scoured for a possible diagnosis. It wasn’t as much as he’d like to go off of, but from the way Tron had slowed as he tried to explain, it was clear it confused him as well. It seemed so far to be a severe case of schizophrenia, but he could make no farther assumptions without directly observing, or even interacting with the patient. With that in mind, he remembered the silver mech’s warnings, and hoped that this wouldn’t bring their interactions to an abrupt end. He focused back on Tron.

  
“I believe I have a possible diagnosis. But to confirm it, I will need to meet and interact with him.”

  
The silver mech’s optics narrowed suspiciously, and he stood his ground. But Rung did not waver either.

  
“It does not have to be any more of an interaction than through the bars. I will not invade your cell, nor ask either of you to leave it if that is what you wish.”

  
Megatron’s optics dilated as he processed the information. He took heed that Rung was going great lengths to attempt to respect any boundaries they set. His spark was not pleased, and every instinct was sharp and poised with distrust. But it wasn’t that simple anymore. _What other choice do I have?_ Venting a low growl, he lifted his chin as he regarded the psychologist.

  
“Give us a moment.”

  
He stated, not waiting for a response as he turned, glimpsing over his shoulder at the bars out of habit to never turn your back on the captors.


	7. Tribulation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's gonna be long.
> 
> And will probably make you want to kill me.

**_… Dreams are not real… Dreams are not real…_ **

  
Optimus had been repeating that same sentence over their bond since he’d walked away from the bench. Megatron did not know what it meant, nor what to make of it. Frustration could’ve built up if he let it, instead he smothered it with worry as he sat in front of the other.

  
**_Where are you, my Prime?_**

  
A few nanoseconds passed before blue optics rose from where they’d been burrowed into his knees. Megatron knew they were being watched but disregarded it entirely in favor of regaining his bonded’s trust. He began their ritual, lifting his servo and letting the back of it face his bonded. This time, Optimus’ optics widened, and relief overcame him even before he let their servos touch. Pride could’ve soared, but he let it surface in a small smile. It was another improvement. He didn’t think they’d been here more than a few cycles, yet already Optimus’ trust in him had risen immensely.

  
**_There you are._**

  
Optimus’ lip plate twitched, and he pulled the silver mech’s servo closer to nuzzle his faceplates against it.

  
**_Real._**

  
The Prime’s spark emanated relief and something near joy, so Megatron only assumed it was good word for Optimus. He stretched his digits to stroke against the other’s plating, and his spark nudged at the other over the bond to recall his attention.

  
**_Mad mech healer, Rung, here to help._**

  
His gaze turned to Rung, who looked as fascinated as he was emotionally moved by the unraveling scene. Optimus followed his gaze, his spark clenching anxiously as both his servos came to grasp Megatron’s arm strut. He let his free servo run up and down the Prime’s forearm strut in a show of comfort.

  
**_He will not harm you. He wants to meet you._**

  
None of his fear dissipated. He looked to Rung again and a small whine escaped his voice box as he looked back to his bonded. Megatron only sent reassurance and his stony resolve to protect him over their bond, determined to relay to him that it would be ok. He knew that might not be true, but this might be their last chance. _We have to try._ His bonded’s spark tendrils twined with his, and he knew that for now the Prime’s trust lay with him and him alone.

  
**_Come._**

  
Grasping the Prime’s servos, he rose from the bench again and gave them a gentle tug. Immediately the Prime froze, gasping loudly as he realized what his bonded was telling him to do and vigorously shaking his helm “no.”

  
**_Danger!!_**

  
Megatron immediately relented his pull on his bonded. At that point, he decided to take a middle ground. He lowered to a knee before Optimus and pressed a tender kiss against the other’s lip plates. Optimus stiffened at first, unsure what to make of it. They had not kissed in such a way since before they were captured and had forgotten what it felt like. It was a warm, soft gesture that soothed them both more than a lot had in so long… The Prime slowly relaxed against him, letting his optics drift close and some more of that lightness that felt so much better than pain evade his spark. When Megatron forced himself to pull away, Optimus instinctually tried to follow. His optics opened into a much clearer focus than he remembered having in a while.

  
**_I will not let anyone harm you. Not ever again._**

  
Intaking shakily, Optimus only hesitated once before nodding his helm once. This time, when Megatron rose to his peds and tugged at his bonded’s servos, they followed. Optimus turned his focus down to his peds as he unfolded them and let them slowly fall to the floor. The tip of his right ped touched down first, only grounding itself after he convinced himself that the ground was actually stable. The next ped followed, and with that the Prime’s optics flickered statically as he concentrated on standing. Megatron assisted as much as he could, allowing him to use his servos as a crutch to lean on and catching him when he stumbled forward in a disoriented state.

  
“Easy, it’s alright.”

  
The silver mech did not realize he’d spoken out loud until he’d heard his own voice echo over his audials, an almost unfamiliar sound at this point. Optimus groaned quietly, shaking his helm to rid it of the unfamiliar black spots in his vision and only looking up at his bonded when they dissipated. Finally standing, Megatron turned his gaze back to Rung, whom stood on the other side of the bars patiently, expression genuinely touched and surely noting everything he saw. The ex-warlord could’ve rolled his optics at the thought but decided to ignore that prospect.

  
Slowly, Megatron led Optimus forward towards the bars. Each of the Prime’s steps were tentative and grew more hesitant by the moment. By the time they were three steps away from the bars and five steps away from Rung, Optimus’ optics fell on the psychologist once before he tore his servos away to hide behind the larger figure of his bonded. Megatron recycled his optics once and glimpsed over his shoulder to see Optimus trembling as he grasped at the back of his upper arm struts tightly, burrowing his faceplates into his back plates. Rung’s big round optics blinked as well, but his warm smile never faded as he leaned to the side to acknowledge the red and blue mech.

  
“Hello, Orion. I am not here to harm you.”

  
Said bot gradually looked up at Megatron, his gaze silently questioning. In response, the ex-warlord’s field surrounded him reassuringly, coaxing the Prime to eventually shift a step sideways and look out past his bonded’s arm. Rung’s smile widened just a hair.

  
“Do you remember me from last cycle?”

  
Timidly, Optimus nodded, an action that elicited Rung’s field to flare in positivity and Megatron to smile. Any physical response was a good response, showing that he could definitely hear and respond to others if he focused. But then, his lip plates parted as if to make a sound.

  
“…. R-R-Runnng?”

  
His optics flickered between dimness and brightness as he concentrated on the word. Rung noticed it immediately and his smile fell into a straight line of concern. _That_ was not a good sign. From what he knew of his medical training, and from working with Ratchet, that was a sign of processor damage, no doubt major. Most likely caused by some kind of trauma to the helm or manipulation to the internal wiring. The later of those options he’d ever seen happen to a bot in his career of psychology, which made Rung wonder… What exactly happened to this pair? Who had they crossed? Rung pushed those thoughts away for afterwards. He focused back on the red and blue bot.

  
“Yes, that is my name.”

  
He said sincerely. Next to Orion, Tron had stiffened, his jaw falling slightly in an uncontrolled expression of pure shock. The psychologist’s gaze turned to the silver mech.

  
“Has Orion not spoken before?”

  
Orion also peeked up at his bonded, and Tron’s jaw closed as he realize that he was now the source of scrutiny. He shook his helm as he met the red and blue mech’s gaze.

  
“He has not physically spoken in a long time.”

  
Rung nodded, watching as the bonded pair’s optics met and Orion’s lip plate twitched upwards, as if trying to smile but physically unable. His helm unconsciously tipped sideways as he pondered it, mentally noting it for later consideration before he recalled their attention.

  
“This is a very good sign then, Tron. It shows progress we can build off of to find a most effective treatment.”

  
Their helms turned back to him, but Rung’s gaze returned to Orion when his optics fixed their gaze on a point past his helm. They became distant, as if immersed in a memory.

  
“Orion?”

  
He inquired, receiving no response. Megatron’s metal brows furrowed and he looked back down at his bonded. The rumble of flight engines filled the room, a rolling thunderous sound that at first had no effect on the red and blue mech. Then the silver mech’s helm tilted slightly, and Orion’s entire frame jolted as if he’d been startled. His servos tightened on his bonded’s armor and he frantically scanned the surroundings as if wary of someone about to attack him. Rung was reminded of last cycle, watching as Megatron then completely disregarded his presence, turning to his bonded and crooning to him in a low primitive warble. It was only when the silver mech gathered Orion in his arms did it become clear that the red and blue mech was venting heavily and trembling profusely. Panic shivered through his magnetic field.

  
_A triggered panic attack._

  
Rung inferred it had to have been something he just said. Orion could clearly be set off by a simple word or phrase that most likely was causing a flashback. Rung was as surprised as he was ashamed he had caused it for the second cycle in a row. It left him dumbstruck, shockingly helpless as he watched the silver mech calm his bonded by swaying in the slightest, caressing his spinal struts as the red and blue mech in-vented quiet sobs. Possessive as Tron might seem to an uneducated optic, it was becoming all too clear how much he was willing to do for Orion. There was much he didn’t know but Rung could see the way the silver mech’s cold glare turned to a gentle gaze at the snap of a digit. As a bonded mech, he would likely put his own life on the line for Orion. _Both of them most likely have._

  
Long kliks passed by before Orion sucked in a shaky invent, leaning his frame against Tron as coolant streaked down his faceplates. It looked like the panic attack had begun to subside.

  
Rung waited another few kliks, carefully observing the couple before quietly clearing his throat and speaking.

  
“Tron, how often does Orion suffer from panic attacks like the one that just occurred?”

  
Both of them jolted in place. The silver mech’s helm swiveled to psychologist immediately, his grip on his bonded tightening. The red and blue mech pressed himself further into his bonded’s frame, helm turned away. The tension in Tron’s frame did not subside as his unforgiving stare focused on Rung, but his optics cycled as he processed the question.

  
“… Many times throughout the day and night. Sometimes more than once a groon, and so severe I can’t calm him.”

  
His spark almost seized, and it was Rung’s turn to blink as he reevaluated his diagnosis. There was a lot more to this case than he’d thought to process. Over the centuries, he’d treated many bots with a plethora of different cases, but this… No, he mustn’t think like this, not yet. There was work to be done. They needed his assistance, and they needed it now. With that in mind, Rung nodded.

  
“There is further assessment that may need to be done for his condition, Tron. But right now, I am diagnosing him with highly severe cases of post traumatic stress disorder and schizophrenia.”

  
Tron nodded as Rung spoke, his field slowly becoming heavy with sorrow as his faceplates fell. One of his servos stroked his bonded’s backplates soothingly. Rung paused, evaluating his choice of words to be cautious of Orion before speaking again.

  
“… I would also strongly recommend that he is seen by the city’s doctoral staff as well.”

  
It was like flipping a switch. The silver mech immediately jolted into a rigid attention stance, startling a gasp from his partner. Rung watched as panic and rage fought for dominance on his faceplates, unable to give a solid reaction for the next few moments. It pulled at the psychologist’s curiosity, now knowing both of them reacted poorly to anything related to medical terms, each to a different degree. When the warring emotions ended, the answer Tron managed to give sounded choked and physically pushed through his piping.

  
“Why…?”

  
“Orion’s optics flickered as he spoke. Optical flickers are a strong sign of physical processor damage. Whether through blunt force trauma to the helm or manipulation of the internal wiring, its one of the most detrimental conditions to a mech’s health.”

  
Crimson optics stared at the psychologist. Emotions abruptly came to and fled from them again so quickly Rung couldn’t distinguish what they were. If he looked closely enough, he could see the silver mech’s servos shaking as they held onto his bonded. Rung fought a losing battling in fending off a sad sigh.

  
“If left untreated for an extended amount of time, any kind of damage to the processor will destroy it. And if multiple severe mental illnesses were factored into this condition… It’s only a short matter of time before it all becomes fatal, Tron.”

  
_Shock._

  
“Tron?”

  
Megatron couldn’t react to the statement, entire frame frozen in place. He was stunned, processor and spark whirling in disbelief.

  
But he shouldn’t have been. He hadn’t lost his mind, he’d seen the signs as clearly as Rung did for much longer. He wasn’t a medic, but he knew the consequences of processor damage. He should’ve known. But Megatron had the suspicion that his spark hadn’t allowed him to think that way. It hadn’t allowed him to draw any conclusion of the sort. Such consequence would’ve been unfathomable. Unbearable. Optimus’ death would’ve destroyed him all over again. He would’ve let himself fall into the fiery chasms, felt the agony of his limbs melting as heat and energy ate at him if Optimus had…

  
**_Cry?_**

  
Over their bond shy light tendrils pawed at his spark. Megatron’s gaze fell, meeting the gloomy, questioning optics of his Prime. Processing the question, only now did he feel the coolant tears that streamed down his faceplates. The disbelief and shock suddenly fell away, and pain unlike anything the ex-warlord had ever felt swamped his spark like a hurricane. Every bit of misery, anguish, agony, terror, and rage that had come from suffering all this time at the mercy of their captors drowned him all at once. His helm fell against his bonded’s shoulder as he shuddered violently. Instantly, he was the one needing support to stand.

  
“… Go.”

  
He muttered, claws curling ever tighter around Optimus as the whirling storm of emotions in his spark churned bitterly. Rung recycled his optics, sensing the sudden change in his field and replying gently.

  
“I beg your pardon?”

  
With a gasp torn from his vents, Megatron reeled on the psychologist with a primitive, vicious snarl, roaring at the top of his lungs like a vengeful beast.

  
“GO!!”

  
Rung stumbled back at the same time Optimus flinched. The voices and surroundings fell away as the Prime watched his bonded’s entire posture drop. The silver mech could barely meet his optics as more coolant leaked over his scars. Optimus, for the first time in eons, recovered first.

  
**_Do not cry…_**

  
Rung could only observe through wide optics as the red and blue mech reached his arms out to his bonded, and the silver mech collapsed into them. The sudden weight of the silver mech quickly proved to be too much to handle as they both sank to the floor. His spiked shoulders trembled, and wrenching sobs filled the chamber. The psychologist’s armor, flared in alarm, smoothed out finally as his processor drew parallels to their previous interactions, almost floored how their roles could change so quickly. Even if the comforter was undeniably weaker.

  
Progress had been in the making… And now it was likely to have all been lost.

  
Without a word, the psychologist left the chamber, unable to do anything more to repair what had been done.

  
Optimus looked up from his bonded at the distorting sound of the wall scraping against the floor, trying to focus on the giant door that was sliding back in place to trap them once again. When he thought it finally stopped, his servos clenched tighter to Megatron, forgetting they had left the safety of the bench and had crumbled to the floor.


	8. One Last Decision

Light in the cell was dimmer than it was before. When that happened, Optimus knew it was dusk. When dusk broke, he knew they were safe again.

  
Before that, the only sensation he knew was dizziness. Any time he looked away from Megatron, the walls around him would spin. Sometimes so slow he could keep track of the shadows that moved. Sometimes so fast he had to clench his optics shut and hide against Megatron’s shoulder armor. His helm ached, and he felt sick, the odd sensation of a filled tank turning against him as it threatened to regurgitate the processed energon.

  
But dusk had returned, and his frame unconsciously began to relax as the light of day faded from the room.

  
His bonded’s cries had finally ceased, turned to long sighs and subtle shudders into his shoulder. How long did Megatron cry? He did not know. Time was an unknown concept to him now, only shown through the patterns of dawn and dusk. But it was long. When Rung left, he cried hard, and his sad emotions overtook their bond so horribly that Optimus shuddered with him. After a while, they became much quieter, but his bonded never pulled away. It was like how he clung to Megatron after…

  
The Prime flinched. The darkness he saw in the back of his processor reached for him, and he almost physically jerked away to escape it. But that never worked, it always overtook him anyway. Instead, when Megatron grunted at his flinch and shifted against him, the Prime forced himself to concentrate solely on his bonded. He stared so hard that his vision became blurry and dull for a few moments, only clearing again when Megatron’s helm finally lifted from his shoulder to look at him.

  
Dried streaks of coolant reflected off his scarred faceplates, and red optics showing the aftereffects of great pain met blue. The Prime’s spark felt heavier just to witness it.

  
Nevertheless, one of the silver mech’s servos retreated from around his frame to be held between them and begin their ritual.

  
**_… Where are you, my Prime?_**

  
Optimus repeated the gesture, letting their servos flip and interlock together. Then, in an act of great surprise to his bonded as well as himself, the Prime leaned forward and pressed their lip plates together. Megatron’s optics cycled wide, completely unaware to react. But then he settled, falling into the loving gesture as his bonded had before, and together they slowly relaxed into it. The warmth and tenderness their previous kiss had brought before flooded them again, and they reveled in it much longer this time. After what felt like at least a few kliks to Megatron, they separated, and Optimus brought their fore helms together.

  
**_Here._**

  
The smile that came to his faceplates couldn’t be helped. Moments like these almost convinced Megatron that his bonded never lost his sanity, and after escaping they’d begun to occur a lot more.

  
He vented as the Prime gave him a small nuzzle, feeling the spark tendrils connected over their bond weave a little more. He held tight, almost afraid of what would happen if he let go. A few nanoseconds of quiet passed between the two before blue optics cycled at him.

  
**_Why did you cry?_**

  
The memory file of Rung’s diagnosis and prognosis surfaced at the forefront of his processor, and he detachedly listened to the psychologist’s voice echo in his audials. Megatron’s optics fell away to the floor beneath them as his spark clenched miserably. He sighed heavily, almost unable to respond. Optimus emitted a low whine, distressed by his silence, finally eliciting him to force out a reply.

  
**_Rung… Thinks your processor is physically damaged._**

  
Megatron hesitated. Speaking the words that would soon come to his intake might throw him into hysteria once again. It almost scared him, and he felt that at long last, he was beginning to understand why Optimus stopped speaking. Another whine from his bonded reached his audials, and this time Megatron pushed himself to look at the Prime.

  
**_If it is, he thinks it won’t be long now before… before it kills you._**

  
Optimus’s optics cycled, staring blankly at him. Megatron thought for a moment he did not understand. But then he slowly pulled away, retracting his frame from the silver mech’s grasp to sit on the floor in front of him. The tendrils of his spark retracted over their bond, and he closed in on himself. Megatron panicked and had half a processor to take him back in his arms and never let go. But he clamped down on his field and waited. The Prime did nothing else than stare at him with a distant gaze, optics scarily devoid of emotion and response.

  
Finally, after an agonizingly long few kliks, the Prime’s optics drifted to the floor.

  
**_Optimus Prime broke… Should be dead… Wants to be dead._**

  
He whispered over the bond, only lifting his helm after inhaling a shaky vent.

  
**_But Optimus … loves you… does not want to leave you._**

  
Megatron’s optics slowly widened, his field unclasping and wrenching as he evaluated the meaning of each statement. How long had it been since Optimus was able to say that he loved him? He stared at his bonded, hearing those words repeat over and over like the sweetest taste of poison. _Loves you… does not want to leave you_. Coolant tears threatened to fall from his optics. _Should be dead… Wants to be dead._ He knew it. Oh, he knew exactly how the Prime felt, and had known it for eons. But like a fool, pride had never allowed him to admit defeat. He fought for as long as he could, even when he was defeated.

  
Optimus never spoke of it either, but not because of pride. Not because defeat. Not even because he wouldn’t directly speak. Now the silver mech knew it was for his sake. Because no matter what the Prime went through, he would _always_ think of others before himself. And the last bot he had to protect, in any way that he could, was Megatron. Any grief he could spare his bonded by holding his glossa, he had. But here it was now, finally out in the open. How much had it taken for him as delusional as he was to finally admit in words, not emotions or long pained glances, that he’d had enough? That he’d rather his spark flicker out, no matter how it might be caused?

As much as his spark forbade him to, Megatron thought about it more than once. He thought about taking both of their lives in that rusted cell to end their suffering. The day Optimus had gone insane, it was one of the worst. That night he stared at the part in his bonded’s chest plates while Optimus stared at nothing and mumbled to himself over their bond, claws twitching as he thought of ripping the plates open and crushing his spark chamber. It would’ve been a quick death, almost painless, and he would’ve done it to himself as soon as he felt the agony of a broken spark bond… But as much as he thought of it, imagined it, visualized it and hovered close enough to do it, he couldn’t. After spending so long in that pit of a place with the Prime, as the last of their kind, he couldn’t bear to watch him die. It had become unfathomable, even if it would grant them both the relief and peace they so deeply desired.

  
**_I understand._**

  
Megatron whispered back, his words a faint echo of the growl his voice usually took on. Guilt radiated from the Prime, his optics showed it plainly as he drew himself up to meet the gaze of his bonded. It almost enraged the ex-warlord that he should feel guilty about it, even now.

  
**_… and I love you too._**

  
The words echoed in what suddenly seemed like an endless void between them. But simultaneously, it was a place with no space left to distance them. It spooked them as much as it moved them as they let such a powerful word hang in the balance. For a nanosecond, Megatron wondered if that place was what death was like: a dark, empty void encompassed by only their sparks. To be alone, safe, and in the company of one another for as long as time may last. It was a beautifully dark thought, reminding him of two revolving stars dancing on the edge of eternity in the depths of space. Was that where their fellow comrades had gone? Their sparks destined to become stars dotting dark matter? He and Optimus could only hope that wherever their murdered comrades had gone, it was better than what they endured in their final groons alive.

  
_Woe._

  
It passed between them, colliding with itself in the middle of their bond. Neither of them sought to hide it, nor soothe it away. There was no taking it away, not for them. All they could do now was learn to live with it.

  
_… Learn to live with it._

  
Was there still hope for such a chance? Megatron had dared to believe so, and no matter how bad it had gotten he still wanted to believe it. And deep down, somewhere in the depths of his bonded’s tortured spark, he wanted to believe that Optimus hoped for a chance at life too. What wouldn’t change is that they had _survived_. They were broken, pushed past all limits, and crawling towards their own graves, but they had finally escaped. And they were surviving. If they were strong enough to pull through such hell, as the humans called it… well, perhaps they had a chance to find a way, and learn to live with it.

But if this didn’t work, Megatron knew that would be it. No more pain, no more fear. He knew what they had to do.

**_… Optimus._ **

He called quietly over their bond. In reply, the Prime cycled his optics, their short clarity showing his attention was now on him.

**_I have been selfish. All this time at the mercy of our captors… It has made us heavily dependent on each other to endure. But for my sake you tried to push your suffering aside, and I took for granted that you were still with me… I owe you a great apology for that._ **

Optimus cycled his optics multiple times, his frame subtly flinching as his helm tilted to the side, showing confusion. But his field reached out, brushing against the silver mech with an emotion he could only describe as denial. As the statement: _you’ve never owed me an apology_. It almost made it hard to keep going.

**_That’s why I want this to be your choice… Rung, the psychologist, I think he still believes he and others can help you. Physical processor damage is not uncurable, but it will require the aid of other doctors._ **

  
This time, his bonded’s flinch was much more visible, and when he reached out Optimus did not hesitate to meet him in the middle. Their servos clasped together, and his thumb stroked over the other’s shaking digits.

  
**_I know… I know how horrible this has been, and how horrible it will be, especially for you. But we have survived this long, Optimus. Perhaps it’s wishful thinking, but I don’t think our escape should have to end in death… My Prime, give this life one more chance, and let Rung try to fix your processor. If his words prove to be lies, I will end your suffering myself, and take my own when I know you’re gone._**

  
Optimus shuddered, his optics flicking as he processed the decision before flashing in sorrow and spark break. His vents came quickly in shortened gasps, but it wasn’t enough to be considered a panic attack. It was overwhelming, Megatron knew it. He shouldn’t have to make this kind of a choice in his condition. But like Rung said, it was only a matter of time now, and if they didn’t do something, Optimus would soon die glitching and seizing.

  
It was about two kliks before the Prime’s vents began to slow, winding down as he pondered the choice his bonded had given him. His optics, still flashing with raw emotion, stared at the floor in front of them. Megatron waited patiently, knowing he could not press for an answer without placing more unneeded stress on Optimus. So he sat still, watching his bonded for another long while.

  
When Optimus’s gaze finally rose, it was full of melancholy, but no longer flashing.

  
**_If Rung is danger… If healers are danger… You will end Optimus Prime?_**

  
Megatron nodded once, expression as serious as his field that brushed against him with open honesty. The Prime’s servo curled tighter around the claws that held it. If it was an expression of gratitude, he only showed it in the midst of a nanosecond. Then, Optimus shuddered violently as he spoke again.

  
_**… Optimus need to be in stasis.**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Megatron: My beloved, let Rung try to fix your processor. If he proves to be a lying glitch... I will end your suffering myself.  
> Optimus:  
> Megatron:  
> Optimus:   
> Megatron:   
> Optimus: Well it's about fucking time you dumb piece of tin.
> 
> Me: ... Such poetry.


	9. Farewell

Two days later, late morning brought the promise of change on its heels. It left the ex-warlord and Prime without an appetite to touch their next cubes or an incentive to meet the nightmares of their recharge cycles. They were on edge, startling at every flicker of the light or subtle shift of a sound. Their frames quivered from exhaustion and overexertion, balancing on the fine line of alert senses and a readiness to collapse. It was excruciating, and terror grew with each passing groon, but after giving Rung their final decision there was nothing to do but wait for what was to come.

  
Today seemed to be the day. Megatron’s audials prickled as they picked up the light ped steps of Rung. They were joined by at least three other heavier pairs, signifying larger builds with higher-powered weapons. If the ex-warlord didn’t know any better, he’d assume they were the peds of Decepticons.

  
“… is mentally stable for the most part, he understands the necessity of this operation. But they are entirely dependent on one another.”

  
“The higher officers made it clear they are not to be released under any circumstances as long as both of them are not completely stable. Can they stand to be separated from one another?”

  
“… With all due respect, I would not recommend it. From what I have observed they keep each other equally grounded in reality as well as provide emotional and mental support. Separating them will not be easy nor will it be pleasant for anyone involved.”

  
“We can’t change their decision, Rung. We must find a way to work around it.”

  
The psychologist’s voice echoed on the other side alongside another. He snarled before he could stop himself, his processor instantly picturing the guards of the catacombs. Optimus went rigid, his optics cycling wide and ventilations increasing as his bonded shifted his large frame between the Prime and the prison bars.

  
**_Dawn…?!_**

  
Their plating clicked and tapped together as Optimus trembled, drawing his knees up to curl into himself and attempt to be impossibly smaller against the silver mech. Megatron clenched his optics shut and grit his denta, fighting down every instinct he had that clawed at the meager cage that was his self-control. He looked down at his bonded and stroked his helm with shaking servos.

  
**_Not dawn… Rung._**

  
The wall shifted and began to move. Both of them jumped. Optimus shuddered, unable to fight the panicked whimper that surfaced from his voice box. His spark shrank in on itself, trying to disappear into the other’s tendrils. There was so much noise. So much happening all at once. Too much. The walls were cracking around him, crumbles of debris falling to the floor around them. The voices were shouting, screaming in pain as energon dripped from the cracks in the walls. The darkness hovered over him like a blindfold, poised and ready to catch him off guard and leave him stranded without senses. He shook his helm at the visions, over and over, trying to convince himself that this wasn’t real.

  
The wall slid away, exposing the facilities’ hallway. No one entered in the first immediate nanoseconds. It left Megatron unnerved. His metal brows furrowed as his arms curled tighter around his Prime.

  
“… Rung?”

  
He growled slowly, optics scanning the open entry to the hallway.

  
“My apologies, Tron. I’m here.”

  
The lighter voice of the psychologist floated around the corner just before he did. His servos were folded behind his back and he grinned at them calmly. Their optics met before Megatron looked towards the open entryway behind him. Crimson points of light narrowed into a suspicious stare.

  
“Who waits on the other side of the wall?”

  
He spoke cautiously, highly willing to ditch this entire idea and end both of their lives now, before anything else came at them with sinister intentions.

  
Rung’s smile did not falter. Instead he stepped to the side to gesture in the direction.

  
“That would be a few members of our healing staff, and their assistants. They are here to help. I’ll introduce you.”

  
At that moment, Rung took a step backwards and looked behind the wall, gesturing at someone on the left side to come closer. A couple nanoseconds later, two mecha walked out and stood shoulder to shoulder beside Rung. Megatron’s stare turned to them, and his vents stalled. The mech on the left was only slightly taller than his counterpart, frame-build blocky and weathered. The Autobot symbol on his chest pridefully gleamed a sunset-colored orange like his paint, streaked over a uniform style white. His bright blue optics and helm crest, though narrower and sporting taller points, were undeniably familiar. But if he’d had trouble distinguishing who that bot was, there was no mistaking the bot on his right. A shining, preened red paint job polished to perfection. Sleek curves, yellow headlights on his chest plates, white faceplates, cocky red optics. Both stood with an air of professionalism even Rung could not achieve as he gestured to each one individually.

  
“Tron, Orion, these are the head of our doctoral staff. This is Ratchet, the CMO of our city. This is Knockout, our specialized emergency surgeon. Ratchet, Knockout, this is Tron and Orion, the newest arrivals to our city.”

  
It must’ve been by pure luck that Megatron’s jaw did not drop to his collar. But he could not help staring at the two medics. Shock flushed through the bond in a substantial wave that made the Prime’s spark tendrils paw at him again.

  
**_Megatron?_**

  
Ratchet showed no outward reaction as he observed them. Knockout, however, immediately became uneasy. His optics flashed as his field curled inward, and he subtly shifted away from the cell.

  
“He… looks a bit like old buckethead, don’t you think?”

  
Like his field, Knockout’s voice curled, coming forth as an almost sneer but definitely nervous. Ratchet’s helm whipped toward him with a disapproving frown.

  
“That is not important right now. No matter their appearance, they are in need of our assistance.”

  
The Decepticon surgeon straightened at that, nodding in affirmation and regaining his professional air. Stoic and steady, something Megatron never knew Knockout to be.

  
It didn’t reassure the silver mech in the slightest as his gaze flicked to each mech, not sure which one surprised him more, because they were supposed to be _dead_. Or, at the least, dead where he’d come from. Clearly such wasn’t the case here. Briefly, he entertained the idea that he’d actually fallen into recharge and was experiencing one of the strangest subconscious visions he’d had yet. But he could still feel the phantom itch and heat twinges from his backplates, something that did not happen in recharge, so that couldn’t be possible.

  
He was suddenly grateful his sanity-derived bonded had not dared to look up from his shoulder yet. Optimus most likely still remembered watching the Autobot medic offline all those eons ago.

  
“Tron?”

  
Rung’s voice brought Megatron back from his musings, and he turned his attention back on the psychologist. Rung watched him empathetically, unaware of his sudden nonsensible inner turmoil.

  
“Ratchet and Knockout have saved many lives in this city as well as throughout their careers. You can trust they will do everything in their power to ensure Orion’s full recovery.”

  
If his optics and audials were still to be believed, then it was a fact Megatron already knew. Knockout may have been flamboyant and rebellious, but he did his job well. Ratchet… the good doctor had always been a miracle worker, even before the war. He could’ve saved an entire planet on the brink of extinction if he wanted to. In their final days, before the attack of their captors and just after their war came to a final truce, he remembered watching the two medics work together. They were an extraordinary team.

  
“… Tron.”

  
The gravelly, curt voice of Ratchet emerged in a gentle tone, one that immediately drew everyone’s attention. Ratchet only lost his aggression when the situation was gravely serious. He met the optics of the CMO apprehensively, watching as he walked up to the bars and knelt.

  
“Orion is your bonded?”

  
A few nanoseconds passed before the ex-warlord inclined his helm in a single nod. Ratchet regarded him with a softened expression, empathy similar to that of Rung’s.

  
“Would he be willing to let us scan him?”

  
He flinched and looked down at Optimus. If the Prime hadn’t been completely oblivious to the conversation, Megatron knew he would be in the middle of another panic attack. But his visions were taking precedence, if his rigid limbs were any indication. The silver mech shook his helm.

  
“Not online.”

  
Ratchet recycled his optics, field flaring briefly at the cryptically blunt statement. Megatron ignored him and the others outside his cell as the words of his bonded from two cycles ago ran through his processor again. His spark nudged at the Prime’s, eliciting his attention. Two blue optics slowly rose to meet his, anxious and stressed. Megatron let every memory of those electrifying cerulean optics before their capture flood him. A sorrowful smile surfaced on his lip plates as he stroked Optimus’s silver face.

  
**_No matter what happens, I will see you soon… If not among the living, then among our friends._**

  
As he spoke over their bond, fear began to bleed away from Optimus’s expression. The meaning behind each word took longer to process, but when they did the voices fell into the background. Suddenly, nothing else mattered besides those words. They meant freedom. They meant peace. They meant relief. They meant _hope_. There would be no pretending anymore, he didn’t have to be afraid. Either Optimus would soon awaken beside his bonded with regained sanity, or they both would soon join his family in the void of death. He leaned into his bonded’s servo and his lip plate twitched, almost holding the small smile he tried to show.

  
**_… See you soon._**

  
Megatron didn’t try to fight back the coolant that flooded his optics this time. Instead he leaned down, capturing the lip plates of his bonded in a tender kiss. Optimus’ minutely trembling servos rose to wrap around his shoulders, holding tightly. When they did, he pulled away, engulfing his bonded into a hug. His own servo trembled as he stroked up the Prime’s spinal strut, letting it rest on the back of his neck as his digits sought out the wiring beneath his armor.

  
**_I love you._**

  
Megatron found the neural line he was looking for and pinched it hard between two claws.


	10. Solus

**_… L-Love you too…_ **

  
Optimus whispered faintly over their bond. Then, his optics went dark and his frame slumped against Megatron, unconscious and now in stasis. His spark stilled, its grip on Megatron’s falling away into a deep sleep. For now, he was peaceful, and so help him, Megatron would hold to his promise and let his bonded fade away if they made him suffer anymore… That didn’t make it any easier to endure.

  
His helm fell back as he silently cried, shuttering his optics, staring at the ceiling and inventing deeply to regain any composure he had left.

  
“… Do what you must with him now. While he’s in stasis.”

  
He stated quietly, lowering his helm to glance back at the medics and psychologist.

  
Rung’s optics were wide and in complete shock. But like Rung, both medics were equally emotionally moved. He could see it in their faces, drawn and solemn without an attempt to re-correct them. In Ratchet’s expression, Megatron found an odd sense of understanding. The CMO stood up from where he’d kneeled, nodding once as he turned to look over his shoulder.

  
“Ironhide.”

  
From around the left corner at Ratchet’s call came a tall red mech, even bulkier than Ratchet with a stone-hardened expression. He walked up to the side wall in front of the cell, and next to the button for the wall he activated a code holder, punching in a multi-digit combination. Megatron stiffened when the code holder beeped loudly, and the cell door clicked, signaling it was unlocked. Rung instantly stepped forward, standing right in front of the cell bars.

  
“Tron, are you absolutely sure? We understand this is extremely difficult for you and your bonded—”

  
“Orion made this decision,” he spoke, a hint of a growl conveying their conviction. “and I have chosen to support him… What I go through will not matter, so long as the medics can repair him.”

  
Rung stared at him for a long moment, taking in the determination and self-sacrifice of the silver mech for his bonded. Tron knew what would happen and seemed to have accepted it. It was an incredible show of courage and trust. Rung nodded, backing away from the bars.

  
Just barely swallowing back all the panic and rage swirling in his chest, the silver mech gathered his bonded’s limp form in his arms. When the Prime was secured against him, he stood up, lifting a solemn gaze to see the mech called Ironhide about to walk in.

  
Megatron’s optics recycled when Ratchet caught Ironhide’s arm before he entered the cell. His optics flashed with urgency and a flash of something even the bulky red mech couldn’t catch at first.

  
“Be _gentle_ with him, Hide. I mean it.”

  
After all, how many times had the CMO had to operate on Ironhide during the war, his own spark mate, and wonder whether this would be the time he couldn’t save him? Ironhide caught the meaning, and his faceplates unstiffened. He sent back a wordless reassurance over their bond, only then turning to enter the cell. Megatron’s field flared dangerously, wrapping around his bonded in an instinctive act to protect him as this strange mech entered their territory. Ironhide paused, watching the silver mech warily as he reeled it back to his frame with a great amount of effort. He wanted to shutter his optics, avert them, do anything to hold back the coolant that was leaking again. But he dare not take his optics off the mech in front of him that might make a wrong move… But he didn’t. Ironhide took care to approach him slowly, servos raised in a sign of peace before they reached out for the red and blue mech.

  
_No no no no no no no--!! This is exactly what you swore you wouldn’t do!!_

  
The war rising within himself was rising. He pushed back one last time before it would overwhelm him.

  
_We made this choice. We will follow through with it._

  
Bending his knee struts to lower himself to Ironhide’s level, he _oh so_ carefully placed his bonded in the bulky mech’s waiting servos. Ironhide adjusted his grip around the Prime’s legs and around his chest plate under his arm strut, letting the limp mech’s helm fall against his shoulder.

  
“I got him.”

  
The Autobot vented, letting the gruffness of his voice slip away to reassure the silver mech. Megatron physically jerked himself to pull away, his servo lingering over his bonded’s arm strut. Ironhide took it as his cue, carefully turning around to walk back out of the cell. Ratchet closed it behind him, the lock clicking in place and beeping to signify its success, then hurrying to his bond mate’s side to observe the mech in his arms.

  
“Surgical ward in my medical bay. Now.”

  
He clipped, leading the way back out to the prison’s hall. Knockout rushed to Ironhide’s other side, optics immediately scanning over Orion to assess initial damage.

  
Megatron’s peds carried him forward with each step Ironhide took away, his flashing optics locked on Optimus. As Ironhide turned the corner, the ex-warlord was pressed against the cell bars, claws shaking as he clung to them. Rung gave the silver mech a warm, comforting smile, even if it wouldn’t do anything for him now.

  
“They will help him, Tron. We will return as soon as the operation is complete to inform you of his condition.”

  
The silver mech’s optics were locked on where the others had disappeared. His field suddenly broke free of control, and it was absolutely _volatile_. Rung knew words were pointless, he knew the mech was past the point of hearing as his whole frame tremored against the bars. There was nothing he could do for him now, nothing he could say or do that would reach him until it had anything to do with Orion. Yet he had hope that after this, this codependency could be remedied. They made this decision on their own, after all.

  
With that, Rung departed to leave the silver mech alone, pushing the button on the side wall and leaving through the hall as it began to slide closed.

  
Megatron was alone.

  
He let go of the last bit of control still sheltering his whirling emotions, and his wails were so loud they shook the cement foundation around him. His entire frame shook violently with the beginnings of a vicious panic attack. Darkness swam over his vision. He wheezed when it became hard to vent, clenching his optics shut as he slid down the cell bars and collapsed to the floor, rocking back and forth as terror became his entire existence. He didn’t try to stop it, nor attempted to calm it. He was past the point of no return. Coupled with fear, the agony in his spark exploded to such sheer heights that he wondered if the bond was actually breaking. Was Optimus dying? Was he dying? Was this what it felt like to his bonded to have completely lost your mind? The concept of insanity was a hard one to grasp, but in the depths of his processor Megatron knew he’d finally begun to understand it.

 ***

Concrete slabs slid against each other, grinding like hardened boulders.

  
Deadened and dull red optics shuttered online. The silver mech lifted his helm from the floor, groaning as he tried to concentrate his blurry vision on what was happening outside of the cell. He recycled them once, twice, three times before they finally focused on the figure standing outside of the disappearing wall. Thinking it would be Rung, Megatron almost jolted when he was met with orange-streaked bulk with a narrow helm crest. _Ratchet…?_ The mech stood alone and silent in the hallway, unmoving as his stare remained on the silver mech. With a grunt, Megatron put his arms underneath himself, pushing his upper body into a slumped sitting position as he tried to distinguish the expression on the medic’s faceplates.

  
Neither of them said anything for a long time. The CMO’s optics were guarded but fixed on Megatron as if searching for some long lost answer. He met those blue optics evenly, if not warily. They immediately reminded him of Optimus. His spark reached out over his side of the bond, hoping for something, anything to respond. But there was nothing; only the same silence he’d felt when his bonded went into stasis. The silver mech didn’t know at this point whether Optimus was dead. So much agony had come with the panic attack that the soreness lingering in his chest afterwards overrode most of the sensations of the bond. When your bonded was dead, you could reach for them all you wanted, but just like in recharge you would only be met with silence. The only way he could know for sure what the fate of his Prime had been, now lay with the medic before him. The medic, who’s silence broke so suddenly it made him physically jerk again.

  
“What happened to your bonded?”

  
Ratchet whispered. Megatron recycled his optics again, his metal brows furrowing silently at the melodramatic change of tone. The CMO moved before he could process what was happening, stopping in front of the bars to stare down at the silver mech. When Megatron could regain his bearings at the sudden change and concentrate on the medic, he finally began to figure out the expression on Ratchet’s face. It wasn’t clear, but it was something between horror and revulsion.

  
“I had to rebuild his _entire processor_.”

  
_… What?_

  
The silver mech’s optics cycled wide.

  
“Every wire was inputted into a plug of opposite entry and charge. The backwards flow of energy and data kept constantly crashing into itself. It burned out almost all his main circuits. The entire processing unit was so severely scrambled I had to take it apart and reconfigure it for the functions to reboot.”

  
Ratchet paused, his fists curling tightly as he tore his optics away. Raw emotion tore at his voice.

  
“In all the eons I’ve served as a medic, I’ve seen thousands of ways a processor could be damaged. Sensory overload. Blunt force trauma to the helm. Nanite infection. Electrical failure. Primus, I’ve seen mechs with their processors in their mouth half chewed… But I’ve _never_ seen anything like this. It’s as if someone purposely reconfigured his processor to turn and kill him. I don’t know how he managed to survive such an excruciating experience as long as he did.”

  
_… So, that’s what happened._

  
When Megatron could react, he almost expected his frame to jump up. Claw at the bars like a rabid caged animal. Wail in another fit of hysteria. Scream and curse their captors, swearing revenge on them one day for what they did to the only bot he had left. But it didn’t. He did nothing. What could he do? Anything he did now would be pointless and futile.

  
His helm fell under the heavy weight that settled over him, and he exhaled shakily.

  
“So Orion… is gone?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Megatron:  
> Me:  
> Megatron:  
> Me: ... Wait a minute, before you kill me-
> 
> *spontaneously explodes in a purple blast*


	11. Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, before a certain warlord decided I was a waste of space and blew me to the holy heavens last chapter, I WAS going to say that it most certainly wasn't the end. It's going to get a little bit better now, guys. I promise.

Ratchet recycled his optics. A moment of stillness followed until he kneeled before the mech behind the cell bars.

“No.”

The word hit his audials, and Megatron stilled.

“He is still functioning, Tron. It may have been complete pit, but I know my way around a processor. At present, he is still in stasis, and functioning better than I would assume he has in eons.”

His helm whipped back up to stare at the medic with wide optics, complete shock rolling through his systems as the heavy weight on his shoulders suddenly began to crumble. Ratchet’s lip plates lifted into a small smile.

“I assume you will want to be there when he wakes up?”

Megatron nodded dumbly, completely forgetting that he was in a cell and could not be released by order of the higher officials of the city. Optimus was alive… and he was fixed.

_Optimus Prime… fixed._

The idea was almost unimaginable. But the feeling that came with such a concept was completely indescribable. Something foreign that made him want to laugh so hard he cried.

Ratchet’s smile widened as he stood up, eliciting the silver mech to rise to his peds as well and stumble a few steps forward for balance, running straight into the bars with a clang.

“Don’t you go getting banged up! I just repaired your bond mate!”

The medic immediately sniped, but Megatron could care less as the medic turned to the code holder and typed in the combination.

“You’re lucky Optimus has too big a spark to give when it comes to new arrivals. You’ve been personally pardoned by him to remain with Orion until he is well enough to return here. Just don’t kill, injure, or maim anyone or anything on the way there.”

_Wait, what did he just say?_

Thrown off guard by the names Ratchet interchanged as he spoke, Megatron jolted back a step when the lock to the cell clicked and the door swung open. His frame would let him go no further, and he stared at the open entrance as Ratchet turned back towards the hallway. The medic glanced at him with a raised brow.

“Well, are you coming?”

Megatron decided names he spoke were not important. He shook himself of the unconscious anxiety of what used to happen when prisoners left open cells and stepped out.

It was the first time since the ages as a gladiator that he felt true liberation.

***

White walls and clean floors of the medical bay were so clean they reflected everything like mirrors. They shined under the ceiling lights and gleamed like Knockout’s paint job. It unnerved Megatron to a great degree. After so long toiling in rust, ash, and dust; he nearly forgot such luxury existed. To suddenly see a place even cleaner than the cell was like walking into a dream. Whether good or bad, he did not know. But it made him wonder as he followed the CMO down the hallways if this is what the labs looked like to Optimus. If so, he could easily relate to quickly despising a setting like this. It was too pristine and perfect, at least for him.

As they turned a corner, both of them were subjected to the short shriek of the Decepticon surgeon. From the looks of it, the red racer was not exactly overjoyed at the appearance of the silver mech from the prison.

“ _What_ in the name of—What is _he_ doing here??”

He cried, just barley holding onto the tray of surgical tools in his servos. Ratchet raised a metal brow in reply.

“To see his bonded. He should be waking up soon, should he not?”

Knockout sputtered, but he only formally replied when his grip on the tray was secure.

“Well, yes but—”

“Do not worry, Knockout, I saw to this approval and walked him over myself. He will not harm anyone and has given me no reason to believe otherwise.”

The Decepticon medic stared blankly. A moment too long for anyone’s liking passed before the surgeon sighed dramatically, throwing his free servo up and turning the other way with a sassy sway.

“Fine! You’re the boss!”

He quipped as he strutted away. Ratchet huffed indignantly as he shouted after him.

“Don’t forget to make your rounds!”

The Decepticon waved a servo at him in a wordless affirmation before disappearing around the next corner. Ratchet rolled his optics as he turned to glance at the silver mech one step behind him, expression caught between startled and befuddlement. Knockout didn’t seem to lose any of his grace, or his attitude, here under Ratchet’s command. The idea of the situation was so surprising he physically couldn’t react.

“Don’t worry about Knockout, he’s more trouble than he’s worth, but he’s a good surgeon that takes care of his patients.”

Ratchet continued down the hallway at a brisk pace, eliciting the mech behind him to come back to awareness and follow at a jog to keep up. They must’ve turned two more corners after going up another flight of stairs. He could’ve tracked where they were going, but at present Megatron’s processor was so scrambled and reliant on emotional protocols that it didn’t even occur to him. For now, he’d just have to trust that this wasn’t a trap. _Easier said than done._

When Ratchet finally slowed, it was in a short hallway with only two rooms on either side. It must have been the surgical ward, everything here was scented with sterilizer and disinfectant. Anyone present could’ve suffocated if they in-vented it long enough. The CMO came to a halt and gestured to the last door on the right side with a one-sided grin.

“Orion is in there. I won’t get in your way, you’re anxious enough to see him.”

His spark pulsed in its casing, pushing him in the direction he was pointed in. Crimson optics flicked uneasily between the medic and the door, and his processor fought between its underlying suspicion and throwing all caution to the wind. But the indecision didn’t last long when tendrils reached across the bond to be met with the frustration and pain of silence. He whirled around on a heel and sprinted to the door, shoving his spiked shoulder against it to throw it open and get it out of his way. Three steps in the door, he slid to a halt.

The room was windowless, lit by the artificial lights built into the ceiling that cast it in white. It was slightly bigger than their cell, completely bare on one side. On the other, strange machines of varying sizes stood on stands and cabinets lining the back wall. Screens, drawers, monitors, and energon bags draped in wires beeped and blinked. Tubes crawling across the floor from the monitors and computers disappeared under a tall, dull blue curtain draped by a metal rack in the center of everything.

_Is this what the labs looked like?_

Megatron suddenly felt sick to his tanks.

_Did they bring you into a room like this, every cycle after dawn to dismantle you?_

He’d never been so desperate to escape his own thoughts.

The silver mech ran past the machines to the curtain as Ratchet appeared in the doorway behind him. Wheels peeked out from underneath, locked in place and swiveled straight to signify being positioned that way just recently. He tore the curtain open, uncaring of the sound of his claws ripping through material as he caught a glimpse of red armor. When the mech within was revealed, he froze.

_… Optimus._

A clean, blue thermal blanket draped over the medical berth covered most of his bonded, but his arms lay still at his sides. They were clean, deprived of the rust of the catacombs and now shining with the mark of a thorough wash. Wires trailed out of the back of his helm and over the pillow propped under him. His optics were closed, and his faceplates were still. The constant expressions of panic, pain, and misery seemed to have been washed away; something that felt foreign to the silver mech. But even in stasis, they were drawn as if in a state of discomfort. It was as much of a completely different being as it was still his beloved bonded. Still alive, and unharmed.


	12. Oh Blissful Sanity

Megatron’s spark flared in such raw relief that his faceplates twisted, and his ventilations released themselves in sobs. He staggered to the side of the berth, servos trembling as he grasped the side of the thermal blanket. Rust-tinted claws hovered over shining red armor, hesitant to touch his bonded as if he would dissipate into the cloud of a dream. But when he did, nothing wavered. Nothing flickered out of existence. His arm strut was warm, signifying the energon flowing within and the life that still powered the Prime.

  
Grasping his bonded’s arm strut tightly, Megatron leaned forward to rest his helm against the part in the other’s chest plates. They connected with a quiet clink, and he sucked in another vent.

  
**_Optimus, I’m here._**

  
His optics fell closed, and he reached over the bond, stretching as far as his spark could go.

  
_**I’m here… Where are you?**_

  
Silence followed. The spark of his bonded hummed under his plating, he could feel it. But under stasis, it was quiet.

  
Ped steps closing in from the doorway were too sudden to ignore. The silver mech panicked, throwing his frame over the Prime as his helm snapped up with a snarl. What he found was the CMO Ratchet, locked in place and servos thrown up in a gesture of peace.

  
“It’s alright, I don’t mean either of you any harm. As long as he’s in stasis I’ll need to check his vitals to be sure everything is functioning correctly.”

  
The sneer showing his denta was slow to relax as the medic carefully took a few steps closer, optics scanning over the monitors on the other side of the curtain as well as the energon container hooked to the patient. Medic that repaired his bonded or not, his suspicion still remained, and the uneasiness he felt in this setting was only making it worse.

  
Perhaps it was that uneasiness. Or perhaps it was the desperation that lined his crackling field. It could’ve been the tension he let slip over their bond. But whatever it had been, Megatron found he didn’t care when a familiar presence stirred over the bond.

  
His attention was yanked downwards, and his vents stilled as the tendrils of his spark reached back.

  
**_Where are you, my Prime? Are you there?_**

  
The other’s spark pulsed, and like a drowsy limb a tendril rose from the other side, meandering aimlessly as it sought out its partner. Tendrils weaved together, and Megatron sat up as the mech underneath him let go of a quiet moan. Ratchet stilled beside them, optics intent on the red and blue mech that was beginning to stir. Instinct aided Megatron to croon to his bonded, stroking over his red arm strut soothingly as Optimus’s helm subtly shifted.

  
**_M… Mega…?_**

  
Relief struck his spark, and he crooned again.

  
**_Yes, Optimus. I’m here._**

  
The Prime shifted again, and this time, Megatron felt his bonded’s frame writhe slowly underneath him. Then, bright cerulean optics flickered online, and immediately focused on him. For a long moment, both of them stared at each other, unreactive and silent… Until Optimus grinned.

  
“… Hello, Tron.”

  
He rasped, his vocal inflections haggard from underuse. Megatron’s entire world stopped around those words and that small, tired grin. His spark sputtered, and a smile pulled at his lip plates as he reached forward to cup the side of his bonded’s face.

  
“Hello, Orion.”

  
Optimus did not hesitate to turn into the palm of his clawed servo, blinking his optics sleepily as he nuzzled against it. Megatron shifted to sit beside him on the berth, croon subsiding as his bonded shifted closer, leg struts leaning against the silver mech through the blanket. The Prime turned back towards his bonded, recycled his optics up at him before they shifted to their surroundings. His metal brows slowly began to furrow as he studied the curtains around them. When his gaze finally fell behind his bonded’s shoulder, Megatron’s servo fell away from his faceplates and he twisted around to follow. He flinched in surprise when he realized the medic was suddenly gone and the curtain was now closed.

  
_Confusion._

  
The part in the curtains was marked by a single open crack, not noticeable from Optimus’s angle, but visible to Megatron as he peered out of it from where he sat. Outside, he could see the retreating back of the CMO. Ratchet paused at the door, looking over his shoulder as if he knew he was being watched. Through the crack, the silver mech saw the medic smile briefly at him, winking an optic before disappearing through the door and closing it behind him.

  
_Confusion._

  
Megatron turned back to his bonded when the emotion beat between their sparks at a more intense rate. Blue optics scanned over their surroundings in complete befuddlement, as if trying to piece together what he was seeing. The silver mech’s faceplates fell and he squeezed his bonded’s arm strut, concern bleeding into his spark.

  
“What is it?”

  
Immediately, the Prime’s attention returned to him. He didn’t even recycle his optics to focus. But his expression looked lost, completely bemused by the situation.

  
“… I can’t hear them.”

  
It was Megatron’s turn to blink.

  
“Hear what?”

  
Optimus tipped his helm to the side, optics drifting down, as if to listen for something that just wasn’t not there anymore. He remained that way for at least a klik before focusing on his bonded.

  
“The voices. I can’t hear them anymore.”

  
His optics turned upwards, carefully scanning their surroundings again.

  
“The curtains, the floor… they’re not moving. Everything is still.”

  
Megatron stared at him hard for a long moment. _Silence… Stillness_. Then, to the obliviousness of his bonded, his optics began to cycle wide.

  
Optimus finally looked back at the silver mech.

  
“This usually never happens when I’m awake… Are we offline?”

  
Patiently, Optimus waited for a response. But his bonded did not have one to give as he gaped at the Prime. Not until coolant fell onto the blanket between them. Optimus’s optics cycled wider and he struggled to push himself up in a sitting position.

  
“Megatron, what’s wrong—”

  
“We’re not offline.”

  
The Prime fell silent, optics glistening with worry as his bonded’s posture drooped and he shuddered. But a wide, gentle smile was returning to his faceplates and over the bond he felt…

  
_Joy. Ease. Relief._

  
It overcame him in such a wave that he unconsciously braced his servos at his sides against the berth. Megatron’s crimson optics never left his as he cried.

  
**_Optimus Prime… fixed._**

  
The silver mech whispered voicelessly over their bond.

  
It didn’t take long for the Prime to remember exactly what that meant.

  
_Optimus Prime… broke._

  
_What would it be like? To cease hearing voices at almost every waking moment that did not exist? To gaze at surroundings that stood still? To go through a day without any flashbacks or dark memories to draw him away from reality? To simply exist in a world turned right side up with Megatron?_

  
_Optimus Prime… broke._

  
Optimus’s optics cycled impossibly wide. His servos shook as they rose from where they were braced, coming up to clutch at his helm. Nothing hurt when he touched it, nothing spun to make him dizzy, and nothing burned as thoughts raced through his processor. The darkness that hovered over him… it was gone. Megatron didn’t even have to begin their ritual for him to feel the gut-wrenching, _real_ love over their bond.

  
_Real… Everything I see, everything I hear, everything I feel… is real._

  
Coolant left wet streaks over his silver faceplates. He invented shakily and let it go in a long string of hysterical, but joyous laughter. His entire frame shook from its force. Servos sliding down to cover his faceplates, they traced his intake, feeling the edges of the open smile that he’d almost forgotten had existed.

  
To Megatron, it had to be one of the most beautiful sounds he’d heard in his long lifetime. His bonded was smiling, completely and genuinely _smiling_ for the first time in eons. He wasn’t in pain or misery. Insanity did not control him anymore. Utterly overwhelmed by such a moment of serenity after so much suffering, it was like falling in love with Optimus all over again. The silver mech couldn’t help himself, leaning forward to grasp his bonded’s face in his servos and nuzzling at his faceplates. He kissed at the coolant streaks, the edges of his smile, the lids of his optics, and all the sterling silver he could reach in between. Optimus gasped, and his servos fell away, the intensity of his laughter softening as he leaned into the affectionate, worshipful touches.

  
**_I love you… I love you… I love you…!_**

  
He chanted to Megatron. His spark felt so light in that moment, not heavy and full of sorrow as it had been. Optimus didn’t know what to do with himself. Title of Prime and exhaustion be damned, he threw any and all cares away as he lunged forward, wrapping his arms around his bonded and pressing a passionate kiss to his lips. Megatron didn’t falter in the slightest, and even growled a purr as he pulled Optimus closer.

  
It was a moment of absolute bliss, one that allowed them to forget _everything_ , if only for a few nanoseconds.

  
But their much needed moment came to an abrupt end when the Prime suddenly winced in pain and jerked his helm backwards, pulling his arms away to grasp at his helm.

  
“Ahh—Ow! Ow! Please let go!!”

  
The ex-warlord panicked and released him immediately.

  
“What’s wrong?!”

  
His optics were wide and confused as his bonded craned his helm upwards and sideways and slid back towards the head of the medical berth, as if his helm were being yanked on by something. When Optimus returned to the head of the berth he sighed in relief, his left servo remaining against his helm as they felt along an open data port just above the joint between his spinal strut and helm. Plugged into it were thick wires, and both pairs of optics simultaneously trailed over to where they were hooked into a computer screen hung on the side of the berth. If Megatron were to guess, the lines scribbled over it most likely indicated fluctuations in processor activity.

  
The silver mech’s spark flickered in apology, echoing through his field and the bond as his servo rested on the Prime’s blanketed leg strut instead, rubbing up over it comfortingly. But Optimus didn’t seem angry. His optics trailed over the wires thoughtfully, helm tipped as if in reminiscence.

  
“… Miko once faced a similar situation to this.”

  
He finally said as he stared at the wires, more to himself than to his bonded. Megatron recycled his optics.

  
“What?”

  
The Prime’s lip plates curled absently into a small smile, humming to himself as he turned back to the ex-warlord. Over the bond he felt wisps of amusement.

  
“Her hair tangled in the joint of Bulkhead’s thumb once. He tried to pull away, and in doing so accidentally pulled her with him by her… ponytail, I think she called it.”

  
His servo retreated from his helm to fall back on the blanket.

  
“I believe I can safely sympathize with her now.”

  
Megatron stared at his bonded for a few nanoseconds, noticing how the amusement brought life to his bonded’s optics. He couldn’t help but marvel to himself at the sight, and before long a loud, rolling chuckle made his shoulders tremble. He shook his helm as he did, and his spark pulsed.

  
“… I don’t think I’ve ever been so grateful to hear you talk about the humans.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was probably the cruelest thing I've done to them yet.  
> I ruined their moment with a ponytail, bot-version.


	13. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here lies the truth of what Optimus went through in the catacombs. I will warn you now, there are mentions of pretty gruesome scenarios here. 
> 
> I also ask that you keep an open mind. Sometimes the worst torture you can endure comes from the one place you can never escape: your own mind.

His bonded fought hard against the dredges of recharge whom threatened to overtake him. But as the kliks passed, one could see how his shoulders were beginning to stoop. How his optics dimmed, and his limbs tremored from overexertion. Optimus knew how long he’d stayed awake for him these past few solar cycles. Not to mention the past few eons. And he had a feeling in his spark that his bonded wasn’t telling him everything about how he fared after he’d put him into stasis. So, with the legendary patience gained as a Prime, he crossed his arms and raised a metal optic brow as the ex-warlord tried to come up with reasons to stay awake. It was their first battle since the defeat against their captors.

  
Megatron lost, of course.

  
His frame laid next to him on the medical berth, curled into the semi-soft surface and draped in the other half of the thermal blanket. At one point, the silver mech had rolled over in recharge, pressing against his bonded. Optimus had not hesitated to pull him closer, and they ended up entangled. Absently, he stroked the silver helm that had fallen against his chest plates, shifting his own against the pillow to avoid pressing against the sensitive wire connection.

  
For a while, he was content to sit in the quiet, letting the beeps and whirs of the monitors fade away to listen only to his bonded’s ventilations.

  
There came a point, a couple groons later, when Megatron began to groan and growl in recharge. His frame fidgeted, and a detached sense of fear echoed through his field. When that happened, Optimus in turn crooned in soft chirps and whirs, letting love flow through their bond as his servo moved to stroke over his spiked shoulders. It worked well, easing his troubled bonded to still and return to a dreamless rest. Optimus could not help but sigh as his servo caressed over Megatron’s back. His digits dipped into the jagged grooves of his scars, brushed against the rough charring of his paint, and felt the rust engrained so deep it had become a part of his armor.

  
_Despair._

  
There was so much he didn’t know.

  
His processor was now repaired. He could think clearly without pain, and look at the world without a looming, overwhelming terror. But terror, even in the past, has a way of manipulating its victims, especially when it was caused by trauma and insanity. Optimus thought long and hard about it as he lie there staring down at rust-tinted silver armor. He could vividly remember the events leading up to their capture. If it weren’t such an emotional draw and distress on his being, he could’ve recounted it moment by moment. Every word he said, every action his Autobots took, every final expression of each member of his team before their murders… He recalled it all, and he almost wished he didn’t.

  
Optimus also remembered the capture. Remembered the voyage through space to that planet on the other side of the galaxy. Remembered everything up to their first day in the catacombs, when he was walked out of his cell and into a sterilization chamber ready with hoses full of boiling chemicals… But after that, his memory files began to blur. They were hazy and unfocused, as if the files themselves were put together by an unwilling mind. He could barely remember what their prison cell was like, or the guards that surrounded all cells like flies to rotting meat. Even their escape from the catacombs was an indistinct vision to him, marked only by colors: red like fire, black like night, green like a space bridge, and bright grey like clouds over the sun.

  
From there on, the Prime’s memory grew more detailed. But only marginally. Anything involving Megatron, he remembered in a near perfect clarity. Their conversations seemed faded in and out, but he could recall the most important bits and pieces. Everything else fell into the background. He only knew the psychologist Rung by a vision of a slender flame and the words his bonded spoke about him in their conversations. Their new cell, like the old one, was hard to specifically recollect besides the color of gleaming silver and prison bars.

  
A lot of these impaired memory files, Optimus knew, were the product of a repaired processor trying to make sense of the musings of a broken one. He didn’t like it, not when it meant he knew almost nothing of what his bonded went through in their imprisonment. But for now he would accept it, and perhaps one cycle when both of them grew accustomed to the Prime’s regained sanity, he would ask Megatron to fill in the rest of the blank spots.

  
_Unease._

  
… There was something he did remember from the catacombs, though, something that was becoming clearer to him by the passing nanosecond.

  
It was coming back to him in short snippets. They, like his blurred memory files, were visions only lasting a few moments each, but it was enough. Each one was inescapably clear and accompanied by sounds. Quick as they were, they contained an immense amount of detail, enough to tell a story of a thousand words with a simple glimpse. When he closed his optics, he could see those glimpses replaying like a repeating record.

  
A mirror, revealing the beaten, leaking, and twisted frames of his team. Their dull blue optics pointed at him in absolute wrath.

  
_“You did this. You killed us.”_

  
He couldn’t move, his servos and peds were pinned down by the crushing grip of darkness. It pressed on him, raked its slithering tentacles over him. Wisps of its essence spread and protruded between his legs, crept underneath his chest plates. Something bared and hot thrust into his valve, plundering and ravaging him. The substance of evil invaded his spark, infecting him like disease. Thrashing, wailing, crying for help.

  
_“No one can hear you.”_

  
Desolation and grey. A dead landscape, the product of a millennia of war. Beneath his peds, the ground is uneven. It is built by the lightless, decapitated faces of every Cybertronian ever created, intakes forever open in a final scream.

  
_“You are the last.”_

  
The figure of a familiar mech, doubled over and convulsing with throbbing heaves. A fearful field clashing with one warped in terror, confusion, and pain. Watching as he suddenly jerks upright, frame twisted as if controlled by a puppeteer. Crimson optics looking up at him, brimmed with spark-broken tears, silver faceplates contorted into a demented smile, and a charged purple blaster dripping with dark energon lifted to point at him.

  
_“… Run, beloved.”_

  
_Anxiety._

  
Optimus opened his optics. He took air in shakily.

  
_Dreams… That’s all they are. Dreams are not reality._

  
Coolant tears leaked from his optics and dripped onto the blanket.

  
It did not matter how many times he repeated that phrase. It was a hopeless reassurance. These dreams were too authentic to brush away. Dreams were his reality, every cycle, from dawn until dusk in the catacomb’s experimental ward. He was a test subject, intriguing to his captors by way of his resilience and power bestowed by the Matrix.

  
The question they sought to answer: where was that fine line between sentient being and machine?

  
The captors answered it by pulling forth the very essence that made Optimus Prime who he was, picking and pulling it apart to expose _everything_. From his deepest desires to his greatest fears to the way he thought, nothing was safe from their scrutiny. He was left to suffer the aftereffects.

  
The process would begin by a standard routine. Strap the subject to the examination table. Wheel the subject to the lab stationed for all experiments and dissections to be conducted. Sterilize the chamber. Perform the preliminary medical assessment. Prepare tools and monitors for treatment. And let the torture begin. He remembered the long and shining syringes the pale-faced monsters filled with black liquid, flicking it with their slender fingers before tearing open his chest plates to inject it directly into his spark. It was violating, cruel, and it felt to him as though the monsters had physically raped his very soul.

  
From there, his consciousness would go black. Sometimes before he fell under, he could feel the plating over his helm be stripped away. The sensation of slender fingers delving into the wiring of his processor felt like a phantom limb, but it was there. He remembered it well, even as he slipped into oblivion, and the dreams would begin. Optimus could’ve easily called them as the wretched nightmares they were, but the word itself scared him. Reminded him too quickly of what he experienced in each one. So he called them dreams instead, dreams that never stayed the same. It changed every cycle as the eons passed. A different fear. A different dread. A different guilt. A different horror. A different worst cycle of his life that never happened. A different tragedy. A different death without the peace of moving on. He lived through _thousands_ , perhaps even _millions_ of traumas within his own processor.

  
That’s what destroyed him from the inside out.

  
He never recharged after taken from the labs at dusk. Not in any of those long eons as prisoner.

  
The sight of a syringe elicited broken shrieks, and even now it made him shudder with a quiet sob.

  
Words that once held no meaning except in a medical bay pounded at his audials amongst all the other voices. They reminded him of the process and brought with it flashbacks of the experimentation ward.

  
Optimus lost sight of the difference between dream and reality. The word _real_ seemed as impossible as it was ever present, and he became obsessed with the spinning question of what was real.

  
Now, his processor was fixed. He knew the truth behind those lies they set upon him. The dreams weren’t real. They were the product of his own fears and the over creative minds of his captors. But they were still there, locked in his memory files to stay. He would live with those experiences, haunting him like ghosts of the past, for the rest of his life cycles.

  
He almost wished he were still insane, if only to live without understanding that.

  
_Agitation._

  
The hot-tempered, tense emotion suddenly slithered over their bond, startling Optimus back into awareness. An unconscious sneer pulled at his bonded’s face in recharge, and a low growl rumbled in his chest. He hadn’t even realized how much his emotions were affecting Megatron. Pulling in a deep vent, he let it go with a deep hiss to release the pent up tension.

  
“Shhh.”

  
He hushed, leaning down to nuzzle against the top of the other’s helm. After a few kliks the churning in his spark began to settle and Megatron relaxed, claws sliding up to curl over his chest protectively.

  
_All this time at the mercy of our captors… It has made us heavily dependent on each other to endure._

  
Yes… yes, it had.

  
The curtain around them blocked the Prime’s sight of most of the medical equipment in the room. But he could hear them work, quiet as they may be. He couldn’t pretend they didn’t bother him, nor could he pretend that the unease he felt in this room did not run deep in his spark. Optimus knew if it hadn’t been for his bonded knocking him into stasis, he never would’ve let them bring him here. Even if he were sane.

  
Optimus couldn’t pretend anymore, but for Megatron, the only bot he had left, he would endure it. As terrible as it was to think about it, he would rather face those dreams again knowing the silver mech would be there when he woke up. To imagine, with a clear processor, facing the rest of his life cycles alone. After everything the captors had left them to suffer. After _everything_ they’d been through together… It was unendurable. Death by his own servo would be a gracious reprieve if it ended that way.

  
_Anxiety._

  
He couldn’t fight it off this time. So many tears had already been shed this cycle, and here they were again. Whimpering in quiet sobs, he clutched his bonded tightly and let his helm fall forward against the other’s. The Prime couldn’t reprimand himself anymore, couldn’t remind himself of a time when he could hold himself stoic so easily. Those times were gone; he was no Prime any longer. Not when there were no more Cybertronians he knew to lead. He was Optimus; newly sane, weak, exhausted, and utterly dependent on the ex-warlord of the Decepticons for mental stability.


	14. Dizygotic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look another chapter. Kudos to the reader who can figure out what I mean by the title

_**You didn’t recharge at all, did you?** _

  
Megatron rumbled as he stretched his long limbs underneath the thermal blanket, sharp denta flashing as he yawned. Rust covered, scarred plating and the dredges of morning aside, Megatron physically looked better than he had in a while. At least from what Optimus could remember. His faceplates weren’t as crestfallen, the slump to his shoulders wasn’t as pronounced and crimson optics shone brighter than they had the cycle before. In turn, the Prime shrugged one shoulder as he leaned his helm back against the pillow, casting his bonded a weary affirming glance.

  
**_Overthinking is the guilty perpetrator. It’s hard to fall into recharge when your processor needs to sort through all the built up data that was incorrectly filed and stored._**

  
Pushing himself to fully sit up, the silver mech watched with a condescending sense of scrutiny as the Prime settle back.

  
**_How are you feeling?_**

  
Subtle hints of concern flashed over his optics. Optimus let go of a small sigh, shuttering his optics closed to block out the bright lights above them.

  
**_My helm feels moderately sore. However, I’m inferring that it was caused by sudden copious amounts of overthinking without rest. It’s familiar to the aches I used to get on Earth._**

  
Megatron’s spark flickered in something he couldn’t quite call frustration, but something near exasperation. While not a labeled emotion, it was also familiar to the both of them. Something a gladiator used to feel when his archivist overworked himself without taking a break, resulting in Orion Pax tripping over flat surfaces and falling into recharge at his workstation. It used to bug Megatronus to no end. Such fleeting memories felt so old to the both of them, it was like they belonged to a different life. A warm, clawed servo sliding over his own caused the Prime to online his optics. The ex-warlord’s digits absently stroked over the back of his palm.

  
**_You’ve been through too much to ignore what your frame tells you, my Prime. Your entire processor had to be rebuilt. Your mind needs rest._**

  
Cerulean blue optics wandered away, fixing themselves on the end of the bed. They seemed a bit unfocused, not distracted more than acknowledging thoughts as they passed by. A solemn, melancholic expression came over Optimus’s faceplates.

  
**_… If only rest occurred so easily, Megatron._**

  
The words, though they held no volume, fell through their bond in a sense of quiet. Megatron blinked as they reached him. But then his posture inched forward, something resembling defeat, and a sad sort of empathy swirled into their bond. He understood that sentiment too well. No matter his fear of the coming nightmares, Megatron succumbed to recharge when his frame could no longer stand to be alert. Sometimes it shut down involuntarily. But it never lasted long; perhaps a couple groons at most before he would be online again from visions of fire, acid, and electrical bolts traveling over one’s armor. It was only by way of his bonded’s repairment, and most likely his constant nurture throughout, that Megatron had recharged almost a complete night cycle. His bonded, however, never recharged once in their catacomb cell. Not even when his frame exceeded any and all limits of remaining in an alert stage. His frame would quiver and tremble uncontrollably, and when he tried to move it was sluggish, faceplates contorted in pain as if just the effort itself took every bit of strength he possessed. But wide, unfocused blue optics would remain bright, as if terrified of falling into the oblivion of stasis.

  
Megatron had known almost nothing of his treatment in the labs for the entirety of their imprisonment. However, after learning the consequences of their captors’ actions on him, the silver mech knew Optimus had valid reasoning to refuse rest. There was nothing he could truthfully say that would remedy it.

  
Something metal suddenly clicked outside the shelter of their curtain. It sounded suspiciously like a lock.

  
Both mecha jolted into attention, spinal struts jerked straight and fields jittery with looming dread. Megatron’s helm tilted towards the sound, instinct taking over as a thunderous growl rolled from his intake. His armor flared, and he glared through the crack in the curtain as the door to the room opened. After a moment in stepped Rung, his big rounded blue optics searching the room with a balanced sense of serious-mindedness and curiosity.

  
“Hello? Tron? Orion?”

  
Mindfully, the psychologist took care in gently shutting the door behind him. The silver mech’s snarl dissipated and his armor settled, albeit slowly. Optimus leaned forward, nervous optics darting from his bonded to the little crack in the curtain he was looking through.

  
**_Is that Rung?_**

  
He asked none too calmly. Megatron nodded once to his bonded as the psychologist’s gaze turned towards the curtain and locked with his through the crack.

  
“We’re here.”

  
Rung’s familiar gentle smile found its way to his expression, and he walked to the curtain. His thin digits wrapped around one side of the blue fabric, drawing it back to peek through from the other side.

  
“May I enter?”

  
The silver mech turned towards his bonded. They shared an uneasy gaze as trepidation took ahold of the Prime and entered the bond between their sparks. In response, Megatron rumbled his flight engines, squeezing his bonded’s servo reassuringly.

  
**_He hasn’t tried to harm us, and I don’t believe he will now._**

  
Optimus nodded slowly. Unconsciously, his other servo sought out his bonded’s arm strut, grasping it to keep himself grounded and calm. Megatron gave him a moment to relax and glanced back at the psychologist.

  
“Yes.”

  
Affirming the consent, Rung nodded as he pulled the curtain back to let himself in. He halted as he felt the anxious fields of the couple, releasing the curtain as it swished back into place and choosing to stand where he entered to give them both as much of a respectful distance as they needed.

  
“I do sincerely apologize, Tron, for not returning to you last cycle with the updates of Orion’s condition. One of my patients called for me at the last klik, and I’m afraid I had to send the CMO in my stead. And as of today, I am here in the CMO’s stead. An emergency requiring his and his staff’s attention occurred early this morning and has occupied him for some time. He should be available soon, though.”

  
The silver mech’s metal brow raised, and he exchanged another, more confused glance with Optimus.

  
**_The CMO of this infirmary? He was the one who repaired my processor?_**

  
He nodded again, unsure of how much he wanted to tell about the mecha that looked far too much like their dead medics.

  
**_Yes. He, and a specialized surgeon. They came with Rung last cycle to our cell to bring you here._**

  
The Prime watched his bonded as he relayed the message, not exactly sure how to take the cautious, unvoiced tone that came with the answer. He did not get long to dwell on it before his field prickled at the feeling of being watched in turn, and his gaze found the psychologist had now concentrated on him. They locked optics, and Rung’s small smile widened a hair.

  
“It’s good to see you awake, Orion. How are you feeling today?”

  
Timidly, Optimus looked down, unused to having anyone but Megatron physically speak to him.

  
“… Much better than the previous cycles, thank you.”

  
At the use of a formal sentence, Rung’s optics brightened. Orion was clearly shy, but a polite individual. His shyness could also be due to anxiety, both traits something that wouldn’t go away with processor repairs if it was trauma-induced. Nevertheless, it was a substantial improvement from the last few times he’d seen the red and blue mech. His optics found the wires running from the back of his processor to the processor activity monitor attached to the top of the medical berth, scanning its content. So far, the fluctuations looked normal save for the past two kliks when he entered the room. Data from the previous night cycle, however, looked much more active than should be in stasis. As a matter of fact, identical to an awakened state of being. **_Did he not recharge after waking up from surgery?_**

  
The psychologist decided to put that question to the side for now. He would discuss it with Ratchet when he arrived, and perhaps Tron if he would be willing. Shifting his attention back to the occupants of the berth, he revamped the conversation.

  
“I’m happy to hear it. The decision to undergo an emergency surgery would have been immensely difficult for anyone to make. I, as well as our CMO, commend you and Tron for your bravery in trusting us.”

  
At the compliment, Orion’s optics glanced back up at the psychologist. Next to him, Tron’s gaze narrowed in the slightest, the light from the ceiling glinting off the sharpened edges of his helm as he tilted his chin towards him.

 

“Should there be a reason to deny you our trust, Rung?”

  
He stated calmly. But Rung could hear as well as feel the accusing hiss layered in between each word. His optics widened a little as he met the suddenly cold gaze of the silver mech.

  
“After all, your fellow city mecha threw us into a prison cell.”

  
**_Ah, so this is the root underneath._**

  
Rung sighed and dropped his gaze. Tron was right and proving more mentally stable than he or the commanding officers of the city had acknowledged. And he was rightfully angry at their situation.

  
“Yes, and I believe we owe you both an apology for that. When you arrived, I’m afraid the mecha who found you could not distinguish the status of your mental conditions and assumed you delusional and psychotic. I tried to reach your location before they took action, but my efforts proved to be in vain… However, I have been speaking to our city officials about you. And after meeting with you today, I believe I can begin to make a case for your release.”

  
The silver mech blinked, and the residual coldness in his optics faded. Surprise shot through the bond and dotted both mech’s fields. Like magnets, red and blue optics were then drawn to each other to exchange expressions again. Yes, their imprisonment was still wrong, but looking at it from the view of the locals… it made sense. No one, besides Rung and the medics, had ever bothered them or tried to hurt them while here. Now, Rung was doing everything in his power to aid them, something that was as far as could be from their chances in the catacombs. This was a good reason to trust the psychologist, at least here and now.

  
“… Thank you, Rung.”

  
Orion was the first to reply, softly but sincerely. The orange bot smiled kindly in reply.

  
“Of course. It’s the least I can do for you.”

  
After he spoke, not even a moment passed before the psychologist blinked, as if remembering something.

  
“Oh! I’ve brought you both energon!”

  
Digging open the hatches to his subspace compartments, he reached in and pulled out two blue cubes of energon. With their worries aside, both Prime and ex-warlord received ravenous pangs from their tanks.

  
“You’ll have to forgive me, I keep meaning to bring better meal choices for the both of you. But I always seem to walk out of the apartment in the morning without them.”

  
Rung spoke absently as he closed his subspace compartments once again. He held them out, and the silver mech reached out to receive them.

  
Both were halted in their actions by the door of the room clicking shut and the scolding quip of a medic.

  
“Ep ep ep! Not until I am sure the patient is well enough to ingest low-grade!”

  
Tron’s servo immediately recoiled as if he’d been burned, his optics blowing wide and field flaring in alarm. Rung pulled his arm back as well, only mildly startled by the CMO’s appearance. Orion, on the other hand, did not startle at all. His bonded’s attention snapped to him waiting for shock, panic, or even flat out denial. What came instead pulled him into a flashback from eons before. It was of every time the good doctor would demand Optimus see him in the medical bay. Like a repeat of a broken record, his bonded sighed with a weary smile, rolling his optics and shaking his helm.

  
“Ratchet, I can assure you am well, old fr—”

  
Two nanoseconds later, he realized this wasn’t the medical bay of their base. Reality hit the Prime like a slap to the face.

  
His optics cycled wide, the smile dropped, and he whipped towards the curtain.

  
“R-Ratchet?!”


	15. Breaking Point

The curtain drew back, and the bulky, estranged frame of the medic entered. He didn’t show any surprise to the shouting of his name other than by a raised metal brow.

“Awake, I see. And they’ve told you my designation.”

  
Optimus’s jaw fell, and his optics shimmered as he stared at the medic that immediately moved to the monitor on his berth, optics scrutinizing the activity recorded on it. His field froze around him in complete shock. A heavy, awkward silence dropped over them all for the longest moments of Megatron’s life cycle. It was Rung that finally broke it, shedding a small embarrassed smile at his mistake.

  
“My apologies, Ratchet. I’m afraid I’m still learning surgical recovery protocols.”

  
The medic huffed as he pressed at the buttons, pulling up another screen of data on the monitor.

  
“That’s why you handle psychology, and I handle mechanical biology.”

  
Nervousness prickled at Megatron's field, growing in intensity as he waited for his rigid bonded to respond. To do something. _Anything_.

  
**_Optimus…?_**

  
He called, insistence and worry flowing through the bond like a stream.

  
**_Where are you, my Prime?_**

  
He reverted back to their ritual question out of habit, anxious for his bonded to reply. Another few nanoseconds later, it seemed to finally reach the Prime. His jaw closed, and he turned to the silver mech, optics shimmering with unshed tears and faceplates warring between expressions of shock, confusion, and outright pain.

  
**_This isn’t a dream. I’m awake… Am I still dreaming…?_**

  
Pain won, and he felt it wrap around his bonded’s spark like barbed wire. Suddenly, the world around them faded away, and Megatron raised the back of his servo to the Prime.

  
**_You’re not dreaming. You’re awake. You’re safe and here with me._**

  
Optimus’s black servo immediately lifted to press against his, and they flipped to intertwine. His optics fell shut in immense relief and he let go of the breath he was holding. The Prime stayed that way for about another thirty nanoseconds before his optics onlined again, this time focusing on the silver mech in a half-crazed confusion.

  
**_THEN WHO IN THE PITS IS THAT?!_**

  
Megatron braced his servos on the berth against the onslaught of emotion from his bonded. He decided that the only way to go about this, and hopefully come out of it with his bonded still sane, was to tell the truth. He spoke as calmly as he could.

  
**_That is Ratchet, the CMO who repaired your processor alongside the surgeon._**

  
Blue optics only grew more freaked and maddened confusion warped their bond like a punch.

  
**_Ratchet is DEAD. He CANNOT be Ratchet._**

  
The Prime snapped, jolting Megatron’s resolve to stay calm. It was the first show of pure anger he’d seen since before the captors.

  
**_What’s next Megatron?! Are you going tell me that Knockout was the surgeon who worked with him?!_**

  
Field twittering and flinching against his flailing bonded’s, Megatron gave the Prime a nervous grin.

  
**_… Yes. He looked much more identical to our Knockout, too._**

  
Optimus physically jerked backwards, eliciting the attention of the psychologist and the medic still present. He gawked at Megatron, now unable to give a solid reaction, and the silver mech squinted and leaned back, as if waiting for his bonded to begin thrashing. Ratchet and Rung exchanged a perplexed expression, forgetting their conversation as Rung took a step closer to the berth.

  
“Tron? Orion? Is something wrong?”

  
Rung’s field, kind but professional, brushed against the silver mech, startling him back to reality. He glanced between the two doctors and his bonded, awkwardly clearing his throat. His optics fell to the berth as if he were thinking about his response.

  
“… The CMO, he reminds Orion of someone we once knew. That is all.”

  
Both doctors blinked, exchanging expressions of half-shock and mild curiosity. Rung glanced at the red and blue mech before pressing the silver mech a little more.

  
“Oh? Is the reminder distressing to him?”

  
The psychologist was answered by the clang of metal on metal. Three helms turned to find Orion had slammed his servos over his faceplates. His shoulders were now tense, and a low keen emitted from his voice box. Tron was the first to react.

  
**_What is it, my Prime?_**

  
He crept forward, clawed servos running soothingly over his thigh strut to then rub up and down his arms. Optimus shook his helm, knees bending back and curling in on himself.

  
**_This is too much. I can’t… It hurts._**

  
The monitor on the side of the berth beeped shrilly. Ratchet whirled on it, optics immediately scanning its contents.

  
“Processor activity has spiked to one hundred fifty hertz. That is _too high_ for any processor to function, let alone a newly repaired processor! Rung, _help me!_ ”

  
In a flash of white and orange, the CMO and psychologist both disappeared through the curtain. Clanks and clunks followed by short mutters moments afterward signaled they were rummaging through drawers for something. Megatron’s spark flared as he felt the rate of his bonded’s ventilations increase, and the familiar flickers of fear running through his field. The silver mech crooned into the Prime’s audial, shuffling closer to pull him closer.

  
**_Easy, Optimus. This is too much, I know, it’s hard for me to understand as well. But you need to calm down._**

  
The monitor continued to beep shrilly and the Prime flinched, servos sliding back to cover his audials as if it was the sound that was causing him so much pain.

  
**_I can’t… I don’t…_**

  
Megatron knew it was only a matter of time before Optimus would be in a full-fledged panic attack.

  
“—Ratchet we can’t just inject him with sedatives! We don’t even know how he’ll react to it! This is too much stress on an already overwhelmed processor!”

  
The ex-warlord and the Prime looked up at the same time as the CMO flew through the curtains with Rung hot on his heels. He turned to the psychologist with a serious expression, his servo rocketed up to emphasize his point, clenching a long object.

  
“What other choices do we have?!”

  
Cerulean blue optics were the first to see that in the medic’s servo was a syringe, filled with liquid and sharp point glinting. Optimus’s tank dropped to the floor and his field exploded in panic.

  
“AHHH!! NO NO PLEASE!!”

  
He screamed, his voice piercing the room like a blade. Optimus’s entire frame trembled as he scrambled against the berth to get away, wide and horrified optics fixed on the syringe.

  
**_Optimus!_**

  
Worry twisted his spark terribly, but he pushed it to the back of his mind. The silver mech immediately weaved his field around the Prime, pulling him into his arms before he could fall off the berth and to the floor.

  
**_Where are you, my Prime? Come back to me! I know you’re there somewhere, come back to me!_**

  
Blunt, black digits came up to grasp at the silver arms that encased him, curling in the catches of his armor to become a death grip. Crimson optics followed where his bonded stared, finding the syringe in the medic’s hand. He bared his sharp denta, a primitive snarl rolling from his chest like thunder.

  
“Get that _out of here!!_ Get _away!!”_

  
Both Rung and Ratchet immediately jumped back, copious amounts of concern and confusion flooding their fields. The syringe in the medic’s servo caught the light again, and Optimus wailed as he buried himself against his bonded to hide.

  
“NO!! PLEASE DON’T HURT ME ANYMORE!!”

  
Panic and terror became the Prime’s entire existence. It flooded the bond, pouring into Megatron’s being. Instinct blinded him. Sheer, uncontrollable instinct to protect his bonded, his beloved, the only bot he had left from impending danger. The silver mech pulled his bonded tighter against him, swinging his spiked shoulder forward to block both doctors’ view of him and roared venomously.

  
“Get _out_ of here _NOW!!”_

  
Rung finally realized that the syringe was the cause. He promptly swiped it from Ratchet, grabbed the medic by the wrist, and yanked him out of the curtain-covered area before the silver mech became physically violent in an effort to defend Orion. Megatron glared through the part in the curtain as the psychologist physically pushed the blocky medic through the door, once again taking care to shut it quietly behind him. He huffed. _At least one of them has sense._

  
The silver mech quickly focused his attention back on Optimus. Tremors ran over his frame and his air vents were working on overtime to cycle air, making him pant and moan against his chest plates.

  
“N-No… Please no… Please not again…”

  
Kicking on his flight engines, Megatron let them rumble as he rocked him back and forth, knowing it had always calmed his bonded immensely.

  
“It’s alright, my Prime. It’s gone, it’s over.”

  
His words fell over the bond in a strong wave of serenity. Like a distant clap of thunder, it left the familiarity of a warm and gentle rain to wash over his bonded. The tendrils of his spark wrapped around the other to draw him ever closer. Time crawled by, as if pausing to watch them. Within the safety of the silver mech’s arms, his bonded was later able to exhale deeply, and his ventilations cycled down. But when that happened, blue optics clenched shut and silver faceplates contorted into a pained and miserable grimace. He fell against the silver mech, moans shifting to soft cries muffled by the crook of his neck and shoulder. Megatron nuzzled against him, ignoring the processor activity monitor’s switch to a less shrill sound, and cursing the medic for ever walking into the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frag you, Ratchet. Not everyone likes needles.


	16. Escaping Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A weird time to update... But oh well, here you go.

The ceiling was scarily absent of anything to concentrate on. The lights were no less dim, and their origin lie beyond the curtains around them. Nothing but a bland, blunt white colored wall met his gaze. It reminded Optimus of the blankness of oblivion, and his anxiety refused to let him look at it any longer than a few nanoseconds. He’d turned to lay on his side, burrowed under the extra thermal blankets placed there for a reassurance of comfort more than warmth. His line of sight to the other side of the berth traced the faded remains of a purple Decepticon emblem on rust-tinted silver chest plates.

  
“Where are we, Megatron?”

  
He whispered into the silence between them.

  
Megatron shifted off the elbow he’d propped himself up on, pushing himself up on the berth to lean against the headrest. His optics fell shut. Whether it was from exhaustion, strain, or a combination of both, neither of them knew.

  
“… I don’t truly know, Optimus.”

  
After a moment, his optics flickered back online. They lingered over the Prime before they wandered away in deepened thought, recalling memory files from their past few cycles here.

  
“… The first time Rung came to our cell, he mentioned this was an Earthen Cybertronian City.”

  
Optimus immediately shook his helm against the pillow in denial. The sound of metal sliding against fabric lingered in his audial, but it did nothing to distract him from the volume of his thoughts.

  
“That can’t be right. We built nothing on Earth. All of our forces were pulled from the planet and onto the Nemesis when we began to draft the truce.”

  
A steady drip of mournful emotion began to leak over the bond. It brought the crimson optics of the warlord back to the Prime, locking with the dimmed blue of his beloved.

  
**_All of them were destroyed when the captors attacked._**

  
He echoed over the bond. Because mentioning the captors out loud felt like a dreadful curse, one that might send them back to the catacombs in the blink of an optical lens. Megatron’s spark clenched, but he nodded in affirmation.

  
**_I know._**

  
Flashes of a busy street appeared in the forefront of his processor. Grounders of varying shapes, sizes and colors passed by, honking their horns and shouting long-forgotten obscenities as they forced themselves to swerve around them and avoid collision. Beneath them the pavement was solid, newly put down from the looks of it and slightly warm from the friction of tires running over it. On the sidewalks, mecha walked beside the storefronts, slowing down to stare at the two crumpled bots in the middle of the street. Slowing down to stare at the CMO that walked with a nervous rust-bucket of a bot waiting for the prods to halt him. They varied just as much as the grounders. It reminded Megatron so much of the bustling streets of Iacon he and Orion used to visit when they talked of revolution. But the direction of city’s light came from the sky, not from its buildings. It shone through the clouds casting them in a light grey, just like the rain-promising days of Earth.

  
Optimus was right. They’d built nothing on Earth all those eons ago, and there should’ve been no one left to change that. They ended all relations with their human allies. Cybertron and all its inhabitants had been destroyed, if not by war, then by the captors.

  
It left them with so many questions. Firstly, ones dealing with a proven state of sanity. Not only did a city of Cybertronians exist on this Earth-resembling planet, but a few were terrifyingly similar to the ones they once knew. It was a wonder they weren’t created and put here by the captors to trick them into a false sense of reunion and peace… Megatron’s field shrunk in on itself. _That_ was not a pleasant outcome to think about at all. He pushed it away immediately, knowing that if he dwelled on it any longer a panic attack would be next.

  
“… Megatron?”

  
Recycling his optics, he shifted his attention back to the haunted faceplates of the Prime.

  
“How did we escape the catacombs?”

  
The silver mech couldn’t hide the slight flinch of his shoulders from his bonded. His audials suddenly rang with the shriek of pale-faced monsters.

  
_“Find them!! Find them!! Do not let the rest escape!!”_

  
His clawed servo blindly reached out to grasp his bonded’s arm strut through the blankets. Optimus obliged by shifting to push his servo out from underneath the coverings, letting their digits twine. Blue optics regarded him in the utmost empathy. Megatron took comfort from their familiarity and clasped the other’s servo tight, venting deeply to keep himself in the present. He gazed at his bonded, optics intent and staid.

  
“What do you remember of it?”

  
Optimus’s optics fell as he revisited the files of that cycle, concentrating hard to differentiate one thing from the next. But as hard as he tried, there was nothing. Just distortions of color and a jumble of panic thrown into the mix. In all honesty, Optimus didn’t know whether at that point, his broken processor had comprehended that they had actually escaped the catacombs. He shook his helm against the pillow again.

  
“… Nothing easily distinguishable. The files from that cycle are blurred.”

  
Megatron nodded, solemnly unsurprised by his memory files’ distortion of the escape. Optimus had been barely coordinated enough that cycle to stay on his peds. Knowing now what he did not then, he suspected the captors had been especially brutal to his processor in the span of that specific cycle’s dawn to dusk. Taking air into his ventilators, he braced himself for the explanation.

  
“It was after dusk, most likely a couple groons after I returned to our cell. They had just returned you to the cell a couple kliks before.”

  
_Unease._

  
Pulling his other arm strut underneath him, Optimus propped himself higher up on the headrest, focused entirely on his bonded. Megatron’s optics wandered as he recalled each event.

  
“I… I don’t specifically know how it happened. It must’ve been something from the surface, perhaps something drilling through the rock or a transport ship landed too harshly. Whatever it might’ve been, the caves cells had begun to shudder and groan around us. Much like an earthquake.”

  
It was the Prime’s turn to blink. He didn’t remember that at all, everything was too chaotic. But from the distant and troubled glint in his bonded’s optics, he knew the ex-warlord remembered it well.

  
“Some, like ours, quaked so severely the walls cracked. Any weak spots in the ceiling fell apart, including the front of our cell. The bars caging us in were freed and swung open… It must have been only moments later that the guards stationed by us were called to detain other escaping prisoners.”

  
Silver digits absently twitched in the grasp of the other’s servo.

  
“I had crawled to the front of the cell to look out. No one was there. Not even the other prisoners. They had all taken the risk to run, and in doing so distracted the first wave of guards in chasing them… It was unbelievable at first, after all those eons we had resigned ourselves to this fate as prisoners, and yet here was the opportunity to escape…”

  
Megatron trailed off, inventing shakily like his bonded did in moments of pain. Optimus chirred, squeezing gently at his servo, and he brought himself back to the point.

  
“… I took the chance and pulled us out of the debris. It was about the time a second wave of guards had been called to detain the rest of the escaped captives. Like the other prisoners, I followed the path that led to the surface.”

  
_That must be why the colors change_ , Optimus thought to himself. Angered red to the pitch black of night. The fiery pits of the catacombs to the cool, dark cover of space on the surface.

  
“When we reached it, there were no more ships on the surface to escape with. But there were three space bridges in the active phase of transport. I suspect the other prisoners had activated them before we got there, but the guards took control before most of them could flee.”

  
A sudden overwhelming sense of anguish was shared between them, wallowing in their fields and dragging through their bond. The other prisoners suffering at the hands of the captors, most likely as severely as they had, who would never know freedom in life again. They knew that fate well. Nothing could be done now, and they could only lament for the poor beings that would never know a day without pain again.

  
“… There was one bridge to the far side no one was close to. It had to be as enormous as the one my Decepticons built beside Earth’s moon, if not larger. I took us to it thinking that I could reprogram its destination to Earth and time it to delete our coordinates after we went through.”

  
_If Earth still existed._ The unspoken words hung between them, but neither chose to comment. It was a split second decision that made the most sense at the time. But after at least a couple eons spent on the other side of the galaxy, what condition was the planet Earth in? Had the humans finally destroyed it? Had they gone extinct? Would the descendants that might’ve survived even have records of their existence there in the past? All questions that should’ve been considered, all questions that were ignored to focus on escape. All questions that didn’t matter now.

  
The silver mech unconsciously winced at the next turn of events he had to tell.

  
“But in the process of approaching the main platform, I let you stumble. Before I could process what was happening, you had fallen against the podium of the bridge controls.”

  
Optimus recycled his optics once again in surprise, and Megatron’s thumb stroked over his servo in an unconscious apology. He squeezed back to reassure all was forgiven. It couldn’t have been helped when he couldn’t coordinate his own frame anyway.

  
“When that happened, the bridge controls went haywire. The hologram map over the podium went into data drive overload and fritzed into exponential expansion. The bridge itself ceased functioning for at least a nanosecond, and then warped backwards on itself.”

  
_Warped… backwards? On itself?_ Confusion poked at his field as his blue optics narrowed on his bonded. The Prime had never heard of such a phenomenon. But he remained silent, allowing Megatron to come to his conclusion.

  
“… At that point, the second wave of guards were approaching the space bridge to retake us into captivity. I had no idea how the destination of the space bridge was affected, nor if we’d even survive entering it. What I decided was that anything that happened to us from entering the space bridge would’ve been better than letting ourselves be captured again…”

  
Megatron trailed off once more, and his bonded could feel the edges of guilt and self-questioning gnaw at his spark. Optimus chirred quietly, regaining the silver mech’s attention as he leaned his helm back against the headrest with a small, understanding grin.

  
“I would’ve agreed with you, had I the coordination to make that choice.”

  
The tendrils of his spark drew the other closer over the bond, and the guilt softened. Flight engines rumbled in reply, a low purr that drowned out the medical machinery around them. When his bonded’s crimson optics brightened in the slightest, Optimus knew he was alright.

  
“So you took us into the space bridge, and we essentially landed here?”

  
His bonded started to nod but partially stopped as his field flickered thoughtfully.

  
“… It was more of falling out of the sky in the middle of a busy street and being apprehended by bots who thought us psychotic and all-powerful.”

  
Optimus huffed a small snicker at Megatron’s attempt of dry humor, and a bout of amusement was shared between them. All these eons later, it seemed he would need a bit of practice before he would make the once ever stoic Prime laugh until his sides hurt at his wits again. Nevertheless, it was good to hear it again, and he hoped to hear more of it in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wait, the conversation gets better


	17. An Exponential Anomaly

Silence fell between them for at least a couple kliks as the Prime analyzed the story of their escape. Now the differing colors of the memory file made sense. But that didn’t answer how they ended up on a planet where there were bots too similar to others they once knew for it to be coincidence. Unless… If there were wheels inside his helm, anyone could’ve seen they were now turning. The variables spun around his helm as his dim optics bloomed brighter.

  
“It has to be the malfunction of the space bridge.”

  
The silver mech’s metal brows furrowed as he glanced at his bonded. Optimus sat forward, turning his helm towards his bonded as he pondered their situation.

  
“We’re not offline. If we were, we wouldn’t still retain our mechanical forms, and we’d have found the others in the well… We’re not in stasis. If we were, we would’ve woken up by now. You clearly remember our escape, and while mine is not clear, I can take away from my files that something of the sort happened. Our arrival here, on an Earth that includes a Cybertronian City with similar mecha to our own… It must have to do with the space bridge.”

  
One of Megatron’s metal brows lifted as his faceplates shifted into complete bewilderment. 

  
“… I’m not following you, Optimus.”

  
The Prime’s optics drifted to the curtain in front of them, and his free servo lifted to tap against his lip plates. It was his thinking expression, one that the ex-warlord recognized from the era before their captivity in the catacombs. Optimus’s processor recalled the earlier point of their war on Earth, and one specific situation that was beginning to eerily relate to their predicament.

  
“When our forces were stationed on Earth, Jack, Miko, and Rafael were accidentally bridged to an alternate reality located on a dimensional plane parallel to our own. Both an Autobot and a Decepticon ground bridge were sent to the same location, causing a power feedback that triggered a systems overload. Ratchet told us that a transfer from one dimension to the next involved the fluctuating energy profiles in a wide distortion field.”

  
Silver faceplates subtly shifting in the other mech’s direction, Optimus glanced at his bonded inquisitively.

  
“Megatron, you stated that the space bridge we entered was as enormous as the one you built beside Earth’s moon, correct?”

  
The silver mech blinked, but he nodded in conformation.

  
“Yes, if not more.”

  
Optimus’s digits paused, and his optics fell to the thermal blanket over his leg struts, bright with deep contemplation.

  
“… Considering what you described to have happened, my collision with the bridge controls must have triggered a systems overload. Taking into account the immense size of the space bridge we entered, and the systems overload it would take for the space bridge to have warped _backwards_ … What if the energy profile of the overload’s feedback was so great it transported us to an alternate reality on a _perpendicular_ dimensional plane?”

  
Megatron’s optics cycled wide as his frame whirled on the Prime. His processor, though weary and almost foreign to the musings of such science, immediately began to run calculations of that possibility. Utter astonishment flooded his field as the numbers turned exponential and ran into infinity.

  
“That can’t be possible, Optimus! A space bridge systems overload with an energy profile _that substantial_ … you’re speaking a power great enough to rip the fabric of space itself!”

  
The Prime’s help whipped back on his partner.

  
“But it _is_ possible. We’ve seen such a power in black holes, haven’t we?”

  
Shaking his helm in partial disbelief and partial denial, Megatron rebuked.

  
“Those are the most formidable force of our _universe_! Ground and space bridges alike are engineered to access wormholes in order to transport matter through time and space. Their power should be _nowhere_ near the capability of a black hole!”

  
With the grace of a Prime, Optimus took his rebuke in stride.

  
“Yes, in a _normal_ state of _our_ affairs. But these aren’t the normal circumstances our engineers came to predict. This was a space bridge built and controlled by beings with technology far more advanced than even _ours_. Would it not stand to reason that with the technology they possess, they could engineer their bridges to harness such power, and supersede the capability of wormholes if a bridge should undergo a systems overload?”

  
The ex-warlord opened his intake to respond, but no words were returned. He stared at his bonded, finding the sheer weight of intelligent reasoning and almost unimaginable conceptual thinking _very_ familiar. Megatronus had his processor blown more than once by an archivist that used to look and speak to him the same way. Here and now, with newly regained sanity, Optimus took on the behavior of Orion more than he had in a millennia. And when against Orion, Megatron knew he wouldn’t win.

  
Indecision and debate built in his optics as he thought about his bonded’s words. In theory and practice, they made a lot of sense. Their captors were definitely more technologically advanced than they were, which was the reason their invasion against them succeeded. They _knew_ it, too. They waved it mockingly in their faces during their imprisonment on the voyage across the galaxy. It would stand to reason that their bridge technology would be just as well-created, and the only possible way to achieve a power greater than accession of wormholes… Would be to harness power of the black hole. Such a concept made his logic circuits fritz and sputter, but it explained why the space bridges he saw were so enormous in proportion.

  
He finally sighed, drawing up a knee to rest his arm strut against it.

  
“Alright, Optimus. Let’s assume that you’re correct, and the energy profile of the overload was powerful enough to transport us to a perpendicular dimensional plane. What would you propose that kind of an alternate reality would actually be?”

  
The Prime leaned his back strut against the headrest of the medical berth as he mulled over the question, optics once again trained on the curtain in front of them.

  
“… Well, a parallel dimensional plane is a reality traveling at hyper-speed beside our present reality. It would be as if you were looking at the world through the window of a traveling vehicle. And, as you said, such power caused by the overload would rip a hole in the fabric of space. That would mean that it would surpass through the boundaries of our universe…”

  
Optimus only turned to look his bonded in the optics when he was sure of his next answer.

  
“What I’m proposing is that a perpendicular dimensional plane would be a reality opposite from our present reality. Worlds and life created through similar processes, traveling at the same pace as our own, but set into different motions and circumstances. I imagine it would be similar to looking in a mirror and seeing yourself in a different life.”

  
_… Shock._

  
Stunned into silence, Megatron stared at his bonded, who evenly stared back. This was the second time this cycle Optimus had succeeded in blowing his logic circuits. It took him three tries to reboot his processor before he found the ability to speak again.

  
“… You’re essentially proposing an alternate universe.”

  
The Prime nodded.

  
“I am. _Think_ about it, Megatron. Ratchet, the CMO of this hospital was the one who repaired my processor. His appearance and life situation are not identical to the Ratchet we knew, but his mannerisms and occupation are exactly the same. He did so alongside Knockout, a specialized surgeon also working in this hospital, and you said yourself that he is almost identical to the Knockout we knew. I am absolutely certain that within this city, there are others reflecting the mecha we knew. Not to mention, a Cybertronian City on Earth, which is physically _impossible_ in our universe. An identical planet set under motions of differing circumstances.”

  
The silver mech went silent. What Optimus was proposing to him had to one of the most insane ideas he’d ever heard in his life cycle. If it were anyone but him, they would be questioning if his processor had broken again. It breached their species’ developed understanding of science and physics. But was it really so outlandish of an idea? A couple eons ago, he wouldn’t have thought they could be extinguished by any other race other than themselves. Before that, he didn’t think their war would ever end peacefully, not to mention regain the presence of his beloved at his side. Since then, the impossible always seemed to be coming true. Optimus went insane, and then he regained his sanity. By now, he believed just about anything was possible. The presence of another universe would simply be another addition to the list… Even if it blew his logic circuits a bit more than others. But yes indeed, it could potentially make sense in consideration of their situation. His bonded’s reasoning was sound, after all Orion once had a knack for arguing. It brought to mind another memory file he’d gained recently.

  
_“You’re lucky Optimus has too big a spark to give when it comes to new arrivals. You’ve been personally pardoned by him to remain with Orion until he is well enough to return here.”_

  
If it was true, and he’d never known the medic to lie, it would be the most sound evidence to prove his bonded’s proposal yet. _But to tell someone that their own reflection exists in the same universe?_ He knew it should be thrown on the table now or, like when the CMO walked into the room earlier in the cycle, it would end in an unneeded panic attack.

  
“When Ratchet, the CMO of this city, came to our cell to bring me here, he mentioned something. I thought it was a slip-up at first, but after listening to your proposal, I now think it was valid.”

  
Beside him, the Prime’s helm tipped to the side curiously. He withheld the uneasy sigh hanging on his vents.

  
“He mentioned a mech named Optimus that had personally pardoned me to be here with you through your recovery.”

  
His bonded’s field, which had been actively flickering and pattering against his own, fell still. Blue optics recycled twice before they widened once again, completely caught off guard. It was only after a klik of letting the information sink in that they moved away, bright and distant in thought. Thinking, constantly thinking, now that the processor could work properly.

  
“… A personal pardon… That would mean he’s an official of high authority in this city. It would then stand to reason that he is the Optimus Prime of this reality.”

  
_Another Optimus Prime._

  
Stranger things had happened in his dreams, Optimus knew and remembered that fact well. But that did not make absorbing the fact any easier. The part of his processor housing his logic circuits, especially, would need to see this mech face to face before it would actually believe it.

  
He hummed him himself before he felt a clawed digit tap once against his servo. He turned to meet the crimson optics of the silver mech.

  
“If what you say is true, then a meeting with the mech Ratchet mentioned would be beneficial. It would prove that we are, in fact, on Earth in a different universe.”

  
Optimus shifted against the berth, something close to unease dotting his field.

  
“It would also provide us with the opportunity to explain ourselves, should this mech prove to be trustworthy. No matter his designation or appearance, these different circumstances may have proved to change him drastically.”

  
Megatron recycled his optics. He only let a moment or two pass before he pulled his arm strut away from his bonded’s servo to loop around the Prime, drawing him closer. Optimus’s field echoed a small amount of surprise, but he obliged and shifted to lean against him. The silver mech’s servo stroked up and down his red arm strut.

  
“I may not know the Optimus of this universe… But I know _my_ Optimus Prime well. Our universe has thrown everything it could at him. It’s put him through unimaginable agony, and yet he survived. The Optimus Prime I know prevailed above darkness. He is strong, striking, and unbelievably kind, just as he always was… If the Optimus here is anything like you, I already know I can trust him.”

  
_Modesty. Self-consciousness._

  
Blue optics widened as the Prime was rendered speechless. When was the last time Megatron had spoken to him like that? He couldn’t even recall it. Gazing up at the ex-warlord, he smiled timidly, his spark feeling lighter in the tendrils of its other half. _What would I do without you?_ Something warm and familiar curled around him through their bond, and they both recognized it as the millennia of love they’d shared. Caught by its gentle wave, Optimus let himself be swept along.

  
He turned against the silver frame to lay on partially on top of it, his optics tilted upward from his perch. Megatron’s arms immediately swooped around his waist, lifting him up to bring him to bring their helms at an equal height. Red clashed with blue, and their lip plates met in a soft, but passionate kiss. Raw emotions swam alongside the affection in their bond, conveying a desperation for this moment to never end. No one would ever know how much they missed such closeness, such safety, and such simple peace. They let time and the world fade away to only exist on the other side of the curtain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Optimus, you a nerd. 
> 
> Tbh though I blew my own mind writing this... It's probably all wrong reality wise, but DAMN LOOK I EXPLAINED HOW TO TRAVEL BETWEEN UNIVERSES


	18. Between Reality and Space

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, first of all, I want to apologize that I haven't updated in the past few days. Finals week ended, and with the end of the semester came the first weekend back to work... And it ran me into the ground.
> 
> But I really wanted to thank the readers who've left me such kind comments about the story! It's been very hard for me lately, and your appreciation has really helped me to feel better. So thank you so much, you guys are incredible!
> 
> I do also want to apologize that this chapter is short, I promise the next one will be longer and better!

Time was lost to him as his attention melded into the silent wisps of light weaved into each other between their sparks. Whenever the other flared or quivered, his would hold tighter, and the sincerity of devotion would be shared between them. Neither of them could see their bond, but like the air they knew it was always present. He pictured it like they would’ve been in death; two stars dancing around each other on the edge of eternity. With every rotation they gravitated closer, until someday, a long ways from now, they’d melt into each other. The stars would become one, and their energy would combine into a great cataclysm. Then it would spread throughout the depths of space, perhaps never to be discovered among dark matter again. Or, it might be caught in a nebula, drifting into the compressing heat and pressure to eventually become a star and start the cycle all over again.

  
Drifting, flying, and wandering an endless expanse. No obstacles, no destination… Freedom.  
  


Whatever might become of it, it would never truly be gone. Something ancient within his being told him so. Energy could change, but it never dissipated.  
  


_… Ease._   
  


It was foreign to him after eons of fear, but it settled over him and refused to let go. Megatron did not attempt to pry at it. He was content to rest in its encompassing embrace, curled around his bonded who recharged at last. Long into the night did Optimus sink against him, coaxed into calm by their kiss and refusing to fight what his frame begged of him anymore. Megatron may not have known what nightmares may attempt to plague him, but the silver mech refused to let them pass as long as he was online.  
  


The night cycles passed into the morning, only marked by the sudden appearance of the CMO to check his bonded’s vitals and functionality. The click of the door lock followed by the ped steps of an intruder were what finally alerted him to a world beyond their presences. Megatron couldn’t surface immediately; dazed by the alluring pull of the bond and the comforting warmth of the most comfortable surface they’d rested on in eons. When his vision cleared, and his senses were online once again, he found his bonded had shifted sometime in the night to use his arm strut as a pillow. He was deep in his recharge cycle, so much so that not even the sounds of another mech could pull him into the waking world, and most likely wouldn’t awaken for some time to come. Megatron could only sigh gratefully as his claws stroked up and down his spinal strut. _At least now he will finally know a dreamless recharge._ Nestled so tightly against his plating, he found that some of the rust had rubbed off on the other’s clean plating. Apparently, the gravitation of their sparks in the subconscious had translated to their conscious frames.

  
An uneven series of beeps came from the monitor above his helm, and Megatron’s gaze lifted. Ratchet stood by the machinery, digits tapping at the screen and faceplates even in concentration. The silver mech rumbled groggily as he shifted to get a better look, eliciting the sharp blue optics of the medic. They quickly softened, and Ratchet’s digits paused against the screen as he shifted his upper frame to face him better.

  
“I owe you and Orion a great apology, Tron. I had not realized the usage of specific medical equipment would cause such distress to your bonded. In the attempt to aid him, I failed to thoroughly think of the effects of my actions on you both.”

  
He spoke quietly, mindful of the mech between them still in stasis. Guilt walked alongside the tone of his voice and accompanied his field. The silver mech recycled his optics, his bleary processor needing to go back and replay the statement given in order to fully understand it. After a few nanoseconds the words finally clicked, and he paused before nodding once in acceptance of the honest apology. A corner of the CMO’s lips quirked up positively before his optics returned to the monitor.

  
“It seems nothing has been damaged, though, and all activity appears to have leveled into a normal state. Though, judging by the depth of the charge cycle at this time and his previous exhaustion, I imagine he will not be online for another few groons, at the least.”

  
It felt surreal to the ex-warlord to hear the current condition of his bonded. To actually know what was going on, to realize that his presence warranted the recognition of an actual mech whom needed to be informed of this data… _The ramblings of a slave_ , he thought to himself humorlessly. He’d overcome it once, but overcoming it again felt like stopping the orbit of a planet. After a klik, he nodded to the medic in thanks of the update. Ratchet then opened his subspace compartment, pulling out two blue cubes of energon. He reached under the side of the berth, pulling up a tray to situate and lock it into place beside them, and placed both cubes on it.

  
“Medical-grade energon. I cannot guarantee that I will be present to make multiple rounds this cycle, Primus knows this city keeps us on our peds, so make sure that Orion ingests a full cube when he comes online. Rung plans to visit early you both early in the afternoon cycle. If either of you need anything before then—”

  
Ratchet stepped up to the monitor, gesturing to the left side closest to their helms. On it was a neon-bright red button, something that sent a small jolt of surprise through the silver mech’s field. Was that there the whole time? Neither of them had taken notice to it since being here.

  
“—press this and I or a member of our medical staff will be here in under a klik. Got it?”

  
His spark clenched in stress and his helm spun from the sudden onslaught of information after reentering reality. But as he reanalyzed the input, he forced himself to calm. _He’ll need a few more groons to recharge, be sure he drinks his cube, and press the obnoxious red button if anything goes wrong_. It wasn’t a terrible list, and he knew he could manage that. With a newly found state of confidence, Megatron nodded in affirmation to the medic. Ratchet waited patiently until he was given confirmation, then turned on a heel with the intent of making the rest of his rounds.

  
A memory file from the night cycle before suddenly made its presence known to the forefront of the silver mech’s processor.

  
_“He mentioned a mech named Optimus that had personally pardoned me to be here with you through your recovery.”_

  
Momentarily, his crimson optics widened. Then he pushed an arm strut underneath himself to lean on.

  
“Ratchet.”

  
The medic halted between the curtains, turning back towards the medical berth with a raised metal brow. The silver mech cleared his voice box of the rasp it had taken from underuse.

  
“The mech that pardoned me to be here; the one you called Optimus,”

  
He started, and Ratchet’s helm tilted to the side in an unconscious show of curiosity.

  
“We would like to speak with him… to explain our situation.”

  
Surprise flickered through the CMO’s field, and he blinked to show it. But as was expected of a professional medical expert, he was quick to revert to a level-minded state of being. _Ratchet had always known when it mattered, hadn’t he?_ His optics drifted away in thought and the medic’s digits rose to tap against his lip plates absently.

  
“Well, he’ll most likely have locked himself in his office to bury himself in the stacks of paperwork the humans have so _graciously_ decided to grant him. _But_ , considering the interest he has taken in you already, and if I alert Rung of this request to give a persuasive psychiatric sway… I believe I can arrange for a visit in the next cycle.”

  
With a small one-sided smile, the medic winked at the silver mech before stepping out of the part in the curtain, the fabric swishing closed behind him as his steps echoed out the door and disappeared with its click. Megatron recycled his optics.

  
_Huh… Well, that was easier than expected._

  
The ex-warlord could remember a time he ridiculed the far-too-trusting nature of Autobots. It had irked him to no end. Now, he praised it, and almost laughed at himself at how the once mighty had genuinely fallen.

  
_I fell from grace the day I left Orion and stormed out of the Council’s halls._

  
Carefully, to avoid jostling the Prime, he pulled his arm out from underneath the thermal blankets and reached over him to pick up one of the cubes of energon. Like the previous time, he took care in ingesting small sips at a time, closing his optics as he relished in the feeling of his hunger fade. And he realized with dry amusement as the nutrient-rich fuel settled in his tank that compared to their captivity in the catacombs, the war barely bothered him anymore.


	19. Relapse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok it won't be longer than the last chapter, but definitely more interesting.

As expected, it must’ve been about four to five groons before a small moan emanated from the Prime’s voice box, signaling his return to the world of the living. He gradually began to shift, frame wearily wriggling against Megatron’s in the pocket of soothing warmth they’d created. The silver mech smiled absently at the motions, amusement tickling his spark. It seemed that no matter what the universe deemed fit to put him through, Optimus still disliked waking up after a thorough recharge. His clawed digits sneaked around his bonded’s waist to rub at the small of his back, and he crooned to him.

  
**_Where are you, my Prime? I know you’re there._**

  
Optimus moaned again, and his silver faceplates pulled back just enough to tip up towards him. Blue optics flickered online, recycling twice before focusing on him dully. Megatron’s smile widened.

  
_**There you are.**_

  
His arm tightened around his bonded’s waist, and he pulled him upward to press a lingering kiss to his forehelm. Love touched the other’s spark, and it wasn’t long before it was wholly returned and circling through their bond. The Prime hummed, a small smile appearing on his faceplates as he leaned up to nuzzle against the silver mech’s faceplates.

  
**_You’re here._**

  
He echoed in awe over the bond, the words so soft Megatron could almost hear their whispered tone if they’d been voiced. His flight engines gave a low purr.

  
**_I am._**

  
When a second, quiet purr met his audials, the silver mech’s spark soared. Memories from Cybertron’s final ages were returning, all centering around the lives of Orion and Megatronus. He held them dearly, feeling them so strongly in this shared moment that they thrummed in his energon. They swirled between them as Megatron kissed over his bonded’s silver faceplates, taking every chance he would get to appreciate his bonded’s life and frame. Optimus’s smile widened, and he chuckled lightly, his servos rising to lazily cup the other’s helm. Growing wisps of joy circulated in his field.

  
**_We should awaken like this more often._**

  
The silver mech laughed, its deep and rolling sound echoing around them. Optimus reveled in it, pressing their forehelms together until it subsided.

  
**_Indeed, it would surely make mornings more agreeable for you._**

  
A hinted, teasing emotion poked at the Prime, causing his bright blue optics to narrow in the slightest at his bonded. Megatron snickered at the expression, and at the drip of indignance he felt between them. He pressed a kiss to his bonded’s lip plates and Optimus huffed a short sigh through his vents, exasperation and affection spinning in his spark.

  
**_Actually, Megatron, my repaired chronometer states that it is the afternoon._**

  
Megatron chose to ignore the intent of the sass thrown at him to win the argument, instead marveling at its familiarity to times past. He pulled away from the kiss to nuzzle and nibble at his bonded’s jaw, humming noncommittally.

  
**_Is it? Well then, my beloved Prime, it seems you’re slacking. I specifically remember your predecessors to be early risers._**

  
Amusement flooded their bond alongside the exasperation. Optimus raised a metal brow before something incredible occurred. A rare playful growl vibrated his chest plates and he reached forward to flash his denta and bite at his mischievous bonded. Megatron stilled and stared at his bonded who smirked back at him.

  
**_It also seems you need to have your chronometer repaired. You may receive estranged glances from fellow mecha if you fell miraculously from the sky, and then tell them it is morning in the afternoon._**

  
If Megatron had any reply to throw back and counter the Prime, it was lost on his glossa. _Forever may pass at your side, and you’ll never cease to surprise me._ His spark pulsed, his optics glowed, and his faceplates relaxed into a gentle smile. He silently pressed one last kiss to the side of his bonded’s intake.

  
**_Fair enough, then. But first, you need to fuel._**

  
Blue optics, caught in the lazy haze of affection, recycled at the sudden change of subject. But he watched his bonded curiously as the silver mech pulled his arms away to push himself upright. He sat up with him, and his gaze followed Megatron as he reached over him to grasp the cube set on the berth side tray. Optics widening, his tanks churned hungrily as it was handed to him and he took a grateful first sip.

  
**_Primus… Thank you, Megatron._**

  
The silver mech watched as he sighed in relief and sipped again, one of his clawed servos wrapping around him to stroke his spinal strut.

  
**_Don’t thank me, thank the Ratchet of this universe._**

  
Humming in acknowledgement, the Prime held the cube away from his intake for a few kliks before swallowing again. They sat in silence in the meantime, their fields weaved into each other like clasping servos. Megatron’s processor wandered back to their conversation, and his metal brows furrowed as it dwelled on one specific part.

  
**_Optimus, you said it was afternoon?_**

  
Immediately the Prime’s movements froze, cube still hovering in front of his intake as his optics turned to his bonded. He nodded slowly.

  
**_Yes, just about 1300 hours according to this time zone. Why?_**

  
Running a quick calculation of military time and recalling yet another earlier conversation, the silver hummed and shrugged one shoulder.

  
**_The CMO came this morning while you were recharging to check your vitals. He told me Rung planned to see us around this time this cycle—_**

  
Megatron did not get the chance to finish his thought before something metal clicked outside the shelter of their curtain. This time, the couple already knew it was the door. They exchanged expressions of mild surprise.

  
**_… I see._**

  
Optimus replied lethargically. After a moment in stepped Rung with punctual timing to Ratchet’s word.

  
“Hello? Tron? Orion?”

  
Mindfully, the psychologist took care in gently shutting the door behind him. Pinpricks of nervousness dotted his bonded’s field after the last cycle’s events. In response Megatron rumbled his flight engines, squeezing his bonded’s servo reassuringly with a nod. Optimus vented deeply, raising the cube in his other servo once again to finish it off.

  
“We’re here.”

  
Rung’s ped steps indicated his progress as he walked to the curtain. His thin digits wrapped around one side of the blue fabric, drawing it back to peek through from the other side.

  
“May I enter?”

  
The words rang in his audials. Optimus paused and recycled his optics as his optics shifted over to his bonded. _Did they not repeat this last cycle…?_ Megatron gazed back at the psychologist.

  
“Yes.”

  
Affirming the consent, Rung nodded as he pulled the curtain back to let himself in.  
Something was off. Blue optics slowly widened with the realization. The words and actions; it felt way too familiar, like déjà vu about to go horribly wrong. His processor whirled back in on itself as something dark came to its forefront. A sharply clear stasis memory file; a dream. The Prime’s servo tightened around the cube as a knot twisted in his tank.

  
Rung released the curtain as it swished back into place and choose to stand where he entered to give the couple as much of a respectful distance as they needed. The familiar warm smile was etched onto his faceplates.

  
“I do sincerely apologize—”

  
His tank dropped, and his digits coiled inward.

  
_“… Run, beloved.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, a plot twist. 
> 
> Just comes to show that you never know what will trigger flashbacks.


	20. Recover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look another chapter.

The cube shattered, and the glass-like material of the container flew out in all directions. Optimus gasped and cried out when shards splintered into his servo and the last of the energon from the cube splattered over him and Megatron. The silver mech jerked straight and the psychologist startled at the action, both of their fields immediately filling with concern.

  
“Orion! Are you alright?”

  
**_Optimus?! What’s wrong?!_**

  
His vents faltered as he stared at both mecha fearfully, clutching his injured servo to his chest plates. The brightness of Rung’s round optics intensified when they saw the red and blue mech’s injury, and he immediately moved to the monitor of the medical berth and pressed the emergency red button.

  
“Help is on the way for your servo. Orion, can you tell me why are you frightened?”

  
Rung asked gently. Optimus clenched his optics shut and shook his helm vigorously, trying to draw his legs up into his chest and push himself away from the psychologist. His field flared in rekindled terror.

  
“I-I’m sorry—I-I can’t—I-I—”

  
The Prime stuttered, unable to finish a complete sentence and flinched away from the orange bot. It was then that Megatron turned to the psychologist with a piercing gaze, his field whipping out in warning against impending danger to his bonded.

  
“Rung, will you give us a moment of privacy?”

  
Round blue optics fixed on him when he felt the silver mech’s field and the warning within it. He nodded instantly, taking a respectful step back into the curtain. He parted it, looking out toward the wall of medical equipment.

  
“There should be towels to clean up with in one of the drawers in here. I’ll look for them.”

  
He stated and stepped out of the curtain without another word. With the intruder gone for the moment, Megatron’s attention shifted back to his bonded. The coldness of his optics faded into a panicked worry.

  
**_Where are you, my Prime? Talk to me, please._**

  
_Silly questions. The real Megatron asks silly questions._

  
His limb struts shook as he wheezed a vent, cerulean optics opening to glance painfully at the silver mech beside him.

  
**_It’s just a dream. Dreams aren’t reality… I’m not dreaming… Please, I can’t be dreaming…_**

  
The panic from Megatron’s expression fell as he felt shocks of pain in their bond. Spilled energon dripped from his servo as he raised it from the blanket, turning it backward between them to begin their ritual.

  
**_You’re not dreaming. You’re awake._**

  
An unharmed black servo reached out to connect. They rolled against each other, flipped, and twined digits when palms came together. Optimus’s shoulders shook as he sobbed in relief, and his bonded sent soothing waves of calm to his frazzled, erratic spark.

  
**_You’re safe. You’re with me._**

  
Megatron watched as his bonded’s blue helm sunk and he drooped forward where he sat, fighting to control his ventilations. _Dreams. Why is it always dreams?_ He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be questioning the disorganized speech of his bonded. Not at a time like this. _Why is it always dreams?_ The silver mech disconnected their servos to let his slide up the other’s arm strut and up to his helm, cupping his faceplate to lift the Prime up again. Coolant tears slid down sterling silver.

  
**_What you and Rung were saying… It was just like last cycle. It… It reminded me of…_**

  
He didn’t dare to say it, couldn’t bear to say it. If he said it out loud, if he even mentioned the dream that had just replayed; this fragile reality that had been so sweet a few kliks ago would disappear forever. He’d wake up strapped to the examination table once more…

  
_Calm._

  
It swept over him in a wave, and he recycled his optics against the coolant that blurred his vision as his bonded’s free servo slowly and tenderly reached for him.

  
**_Let me see, my Prime._**

  
Optimus vented shakily as the silver mech’s clawed digits wrapped around his injured servo, drawing it away from his chest. Crimson optics scanned over the energon dripping off the black palm as it spread open. He fought to suppress a wince as he witnessed the large shards that stuck out and the small splinters that had dug themselves in. Cooing to his bonded, Megatron gave his cheek plate a reassuring stroke.

  
Ped steps clapped against the floor and the curtain suddenly swished as Rung glanced through once again, bunches of gleaming white fabric bundled in his servos.

  
“Alright I’ve found towels! Tron, Orion, may I enter to assist?”

  
Megatron glanced over at the psychologist and back as the Prime’s field shuddered and cerulean blue optics flicked between Rung and him apprehensively. The side of his lip plate curled up into a reassuring small smile as he wrapped his thick field around his bonded, lowering his servo to rub soothingly at the other’s arm strut. He silently nodded once in granted permission and Rung stepped forward.

  
“What happened?!”

  
A resounding slam caught their attention as the CMO burst through the door, optics already on the occupants surrounded by curtains. Rigidly straightening at the sudden intrusion, the couple stared anxiously as he neared, only beginning to calm as his expression softened and Rung acknowledged him.

  
“Orion accidentally broke a cube of medical grade energon. Some of the broken pieces unfortunately cut into his servo.”

  
Ratchet’s optics flared as he stopped at the bedside, arm strut reaching out with the intent to take and observe the red and blue mech’s injured servo. But Orion fearfully cringed away, and he paused as he let his arm drop. The attentive optics of the medic instead scanned over the exposed cuts and splinters.

  
“… The pieces will require removal, and these cuts will need to be soldered shut. Orion, would you be comfortable if I utilized forceps and a welder?”

  
Three pairs of optics turned to him, and the Prime’s shoulders fell and hunched as their combined weight pressed down on him. His optics timidly drifted away to stare at the cube shards and puddle of energon in his lap. It had now seeped into the thermal blankets and would most likely stain them permanently. Focusing instead on the annoying, but less frightening sensation of the energon becoming sticky on his plating, he nodded once.

  
“Alright.”

  
The medic confirmed, his optics following the patient’s stare to the energon in his lap and covering both occupants of the berth. He huffed a sigh.

  
“I’ll bring a new set of blankets while I’m at it.”

  
With that, the medic walked back out of the curtained area, his lingering presence in the room only indicated by _tinks_ and _thunks_ as he rummaged in the drawers and the shifting of his peds as he moved from one place station to another. Rung cleared his intake quietly, politely asking for the silver mech’s attention as he held out the towels.

  
“Here you are.”

  
Cautiously, Megatron reached out and took them in his grasp as he muttered a ‘thank you.’ The soft material brushed over his claws, and like the blankets they were as unfamiliar as they were a comfort.

  
Humbly averting his optics as the two mecha began to wipe away the sticky fluid from their frames, Rung pondered the situation that had just taken place. It must have been a flashback, one he could only assume he’d had a part in causing. As a psychologist, the events were unavoidable, but unacceptable. Helplessness coiled coldly in his tanks. _Where did it start this time? What was the trigger of fear?_ He replayed the memory file of their short interaction, analyzing the red and blue mech’s reactions, noticing the subtle shifts in his faceplates and the intensity of his magnetic field. What surprised him is another similar memory file that popped up in the forefront of his processor, its date signaling the morning cycle before. His actions and their conversation paralleled the two files together, comparing it to the human term “déjà vu.” _Is this what Orion noticed?_ Looking back at his reactions, their timing and resemblance to his own astonishment told Rung the answer he needed.

  
_But why would this elicit a flashback?_

  
The psychologist’s metal brows furrowed. Eons of experience with war-related mental illnesses, and these bots stumped him. Tron’s reactions, he could understand; they were instinctive and dependency-driven. Orion was his bonded, and though Rung was not one to assume, most likely the only bot the silver mech had left. Protecting him was Tron’s purpose, and it gave him a reason to remain stable. Splitting them caused the silver mech _extreme_ separation anxiety, one of the worst he’d seen in his career. Orion, however… Rung had not the slightest idea of what could be causing his constant flashbacks and triggered panic attacks; he could only go off of what he’d gathered so far. The symptoms of schizophrenia had been eliminated after processor repairment. However, the codependency and separation anxiety symptoms he’d observed in their interactions within the security cell lingered. At this point in time, Tron was clearly the only one who could keep him stable and aid him through the attacks. Orion was doubtful of both the psychologist and the CMO and turning out to be more timid than he’d first assumed.

  
His lip plates thinned at the thought. _Anything_ could potentially be a trigger for the red and blue mech. It meant that social interactions of any kind outside of his bonded would be a challenge, one that would not be easily remedied by therapy or medications. This also meant that he might have to reevaluate his request to the city’s high officials to allow them leave from the maximum security facility. Rung would need more time to observe and speak to the couple in a controlled environment; to gain a better understanding of their individual symptoms and what might be causing them. Tron and Orion would need time to adjust to interacting with others. The couple would not be pleased, this he knew, and it would take careful communication on his end to avoid losing progress made.

  
A hiss of pain followed by the low thrum of flight engines caught his audials. Emerging from contemplation, Rung’s optics rose to see the silver mech dabbing at the energon on his bonded’s servo with the edge of a rust and fluid stained towel. His optics traveled over the frames of each bot, finding that the red and blue mech was once again spotless, save for his injured appendage. Tron’s chest plates and arm struts were free of energon, and tiny flecks of shining silver peeking through the rust tint of his armor indicated that some of the grime had come off with it. They finally landed on where the couple connected in the middle, and he watched as the silver mech’s clawed digits moved with the towel. Gently, tenderly, _delicately_. It was as if he were handling a precious possession that could shatter at any moment. Such mindful movements put wonderment in his spark and pulled a small smile from his faceplates. Small as they were, they were acts of love, and they put many of the other couples in the city to shame.

  
The curtain swished at his backplates, and a flash of orange and white was his only warning before folded sheets and thermal blankets were nearly thrown into his arms.

  
“May I assist further, Tron?”

  
Crimson optics drew away from their partner to look up at the medic, tools in servo and waiting patiently for access. A few moments passed before the silver mech silently moved out of the way, letting the towel drop on the berth and sliding back. Orion tensed, but watched without comment as his bonded retreated, and relaxed when with an ex-vent as his bonded took his unharmed servo. Rung observed without pause as he set the folded blankets in his arms at the end of the medical berth.

  
Ratchet was next to sit against the berth, setting the small welder on his right side. He turned to his patient, extending a steady servo towards him with a caring, but expectant expression. Orion hesitated, injured appendage subconsciously curling towards his frame, and the medic’s caring field brushed against him.

  
“It’s alright, Orion. Don’t be frightened of me.”

  
It was a reassuring push of his bonded’s field that made the red and blue mech give in and let the medic take his servo. Kindly, Ratchet’s thumb spread his digits and his focused optics assessed the damage. He raised the forceps to pick away at the shards, and Orion’s servo quivered in his grasp.

  
“Easy, Orion. Shhh.”

  
The larger shards were easy to remove and did not take more than a klik, but the small shards required the better part of the medic’s concentration. His grip on the back of Orion’s appendage tightened to still it, and his steady servos worked quickly to pluck them away. When they were removed, his servo sought out one of the towels on the berth to dab away the residual bleeding energon. There wasn’t much of it, and it took no time at all before it was also placed to the side in favor of the welder. Orion and Tron both tensed when the pointed blue flame sparked and piqued the psychologist’s attention. But the medic’s unwavering field brushed against his patient’s as he worked to close the cuts. The entire repair process couldn’t have taken more than ten kliks, and when the CMO’s welder shut off and pulled away, the couple’s stiff frames began to relax.

  
“The welds are still hot, so be careful not to curl your palm or touch them for the next three kliks. Other than that, you’ll be fine.”

  
Orion pulled his servo back to inspect it with quiet optics, digits and palm flexing but not breaking his orders. His field pulsed _gratefulness_ and pushed against the medic’s, eliciting a small smile. No words were needed. Ratchet stood from the berth to subspace his tools before his optics fell on the towels in on the berth front of them, surrounded by cube shards and covered in rust. Rust that he had not noticed before, and that would’ve made Knockout shiver in horror. Blinking, his optics shifted to the only rust-covered mech in the room.

  
“Tron, have you received any kind of wash since arriving at the hospital?”

  
The silver mech startled and recycled his optics, staring down at himself with an expression that quite dumbly read _no_. Gaze narrowing in the slightest, the CMO looked over at the culprit with a raised metal brow.

  
“That won’t do. Sanitation is key to a bot’s functioning, repair, and recovery. Your bonded’s health is at risk so long as you remain in this condition.”

  
Immediately, the silver mech’s optics softened, flicking between the medic and Orion. Ratchet thought he felt fear flash through the distanced field, but he couldn’t be sure. He closed his subspace compartments as he continued.

  
“There is a private decontamination wash-room for patients at the other side of the hall. My suggestion is that you make use of it while myself or Rung can accompany you.”

  
This time, the medic knew that what flashed through both of their fields was definite panic. Orion’s face blanched. He seemed to have forgotten that one of his servos had just been welded as both of them flew to grasp the silver mech’s clawed digits in a death grip.

  
“N-NO!”

  
Orion cried out against the request for his bonded to leave. In response, Tron turned to him and pulled him closer, crooning against his audial to soothe his fear before it leapt out of their control. They stayed this way for about a klik, as the panicked and reassuring fields clashed together before eventually weaving together. When they found an even ground, the forced calm of Tron’s field overwhelmed them both. He looked up at the CMO, fear and determination battling for dominance in his optics.

  
“I understand what is necessary, Ratchet… But I will _not_ be going anywhere without Orion.”

  
The alerted expression that had quickly taken residence on the CMO’s faceplates diminished. Indecision, vexation, and guilt all warred against each other. But before the tense silence between them could drag out, the ever observant Rung piped up in its midst.

  
“I may not be verse in surgery recovery protocols, but I would think that giving Orion the chance to get up and walk would be an excellent way to assess that his motor functions are processing correctly. In addition, it is my professional opinion as a psychologist that Tron and Orion should remain together if they are to go anywhere to remain mentally stable.”

  
Ratchet glanced at the psychologist, observing the knowledgeable confidence and clear purpose in those round blue optics. His gaze flicked back to the couple, feeling the shock in their fields as neither of them could decide whether to look at him or Rung. Cerulean blue optics caught him and held him in place, and Ratchet couldn’t help the pang that hit his spark. They were _oh so_ familiar. The fear and pain that lay in them didn’t belong there. Not when the voice of his leader accompanied them. Whispering. Pleading. _Please, old friend…_ He’d never been able to withstand against them. Even now.

  
Huffing in exasperation, he clenched his optics shut and pinched his nasal ridge in two digits.

  
“Fine! I’m obviously outnumbered in this vote.”

  
_Shock._

  
The silver mech and his bonded could only gape as their processors halted in place and their ventilations stilled. Rung smiled gratefully at the medic, who glared at him when his digits lowered from his face. With a sigh, he walked to the headrest of the berth, tapping a few of the buttons on the monitor to shut it down and looking down at his patient.

  
“I’m going to remove the data cables, Orion. Just hold still, this might tingle.”

  
Cerulean blue optics recycled to come back to awareness. Orion tensed and snapped his optics shut when the medic reached for his helm, unable to cycle air. Ratchet grasped the head of the cables at the port and quickly disengaged it, pulling it away to hang it over the top of the berth.

  
“You can vent now.”

  
Orion slowly opened his optics, tense frame loosening as he looked behind him up at the cable. Plating underneath his helm slid down and back into place over the open plug, and his servo lifted to rub at the data port. Ratchet nodded affirmingly and waved to the two bots in the medical berth to rise.

  
“Come on, you two. I don’t have all afternoon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scrap, this means I have to write another.


	21. Stars Only Shine Amidst Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am fucking proud of this short chapter and I don't care who knows it.

Pouring water pounds at the floor. It splashes at the walls and rises in a misty steam up to the ceiling, clouding around the yellow fluorescent lamp. The air is damp in the chamber, accompanied with the lingering scent of solvent, and the light around them is dimmed by its wispy fog. It reminds them of a rainstorm, drowning out an impenetrable silence that encompassed the room when they entered.

  
Megatron stands under the rain pattering on his armor. The fluids run through every seam and crevice, sliding against the built up grime like fingers small enough to finally scratch all of the itch. His helm is bowed, his optics are closed, and his plating is flared, allowing the warmth to seep beneath and soak the protoform and wiring beneath. The water that drips from him comes off red from the tint of fire-colored rust of the catacombs, and it pools around him like the blood of humans. Silver flecks turn to silver patches under the workings of the solvent’s cleansing chemicals. An aluminum mesh sponge, clasped in his servo at his side, hangs forgotten. He takes the air in languidly, feeling the moisture of it collect in his vents, and savors it. Cherishes it. Let’s himself believe that the water that cleanses him of the dry and burning dust could wash away the scars that littered his frame. Could wipe away the nightmares imprinted on his spark. Could rid him of the pain that came with every living face that was nothing more than a memory.

  
_Pain. Sorrow. Anguish. Regret._

  
The ex-warlord’s field flares. And then it’s caught.

  
_Melancholy._

  
Tender digits touch the hind blades of his shoulders. He invents shakily as their fields weave together tightly. The digits slide over his wet armor, palms splaying to rest fully against him. An engine of a powerful grounder thrums behind him, humming over the beat of the rain. He rumbles back, his flight engines vibrating through his shoulders and down his back strut. The servo on his left shoulder gently glides forward, around the curved spikes to slip down his arm. When it reaches his clawed servo, it pauses, grasping the outside of it lightly. Megatron invents again, feeling the other’s arm strut rest against his. Their engines fill the room. They revel in the rain.

  
A long time passes before the other’s servo moves again, reaching through his digits to grasp the forgotten mesh. He let his claws unclasp and release it, feeling it fall from his palm and leave it empty. The servo pulls away, and the world hangs suspended between the raindrops.

  
_Love._

  
The servo returns, pressing the mesh against the armor of his back. Megatron’s engines hitch, feeling his perspective of the world shrink down to the sensation of pattering water and the servos pressing against him. Carefully, gracefully, the mesh strokes over his back, arising and descending against the rust and grit with the ease of a running river. Skating over the coarse ruts and indentations that cut deep and grazes into his protoform. Brushing the areas where silver and red blackened, charred and burned like embers of coal. Dipping where the small edges of armor had been melted away, warped and deformed to never heal completely.

  
Thrumming ground engines hush into quiet. The mesh halts at the small of his back.

  
Digits run over the edges of an acid burn. His vents cease.

  
_… Anguish._

  
The digits halt. Then, they press into him. A low, soothing coo resounds from deep in the other’s chest.

  
_… Acceptance. Affection._

  
Lip plates settle against the groove of a scar between his shoulder blades. Megatron ex-vents the moist air he didn’t know he is holding in. They gradually move, planting kisses onto every disfigurement of his sterling silver armor. His claws tremble, and he releases a soft sob. The lids of his optics clench harder as the other’s warm field surrounds him. The other’s spark embraces him. The other’s lips tend to him.

  
_Love._

  
His shoulders crumble, and his frame trembles. Coolant tears accompany the solvent chemicals. He leans back into the sensation of the other’s kiss and caressing servos. Their existence fades and revolves into each other, wanting nothing more. The rain drips against their frames, dipping into every seam and crevice, washing away the blood-like rust. They let it cleanse away the past. They let themselves forget.

  
_Love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Optimus: *spits* ... I got rust in my mouth  
> Me:   
> Me:   
> Me:   
> Me: Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn


	22. Dread

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preliminary warning: this chapter isn't as short as the last, but it's still pretty short. Next one will be longer.
> 
> By the way, I'm glad you guys appreciate my notes!   
> ^.^

“Tron, Orion, I’ve heard from Ratchet that you’ve requested to meet Optimus, our city’s leader?”

  
Rung’s smooth voice pulled them both from their thoughts, and said CMO looked from the psychologist to the mecha on the berth. Tron nodded from where he sat at the end of the medical berth.

  
“Yes, that is correct.”

  
A slightly surprised field bumped against the silver mech, and he glanced at his bonded who leaned back against the headrest on top of the clean thermal blankets. The data cords plugged back into his helm looped down over the pillow to brush against his smoke stack, and the head of the cables itself caused him to lean his helm forward to avoid pressing against it. His second cube of energon hovered at his intake as his optics stared at him inquisitively.

  
**_I was not aware you already brought it to the CMO’s attention._**

  
The side of his lip plates quirked up into something resembling a smile, and he pushed reassurance back through their bond.

  
**_I spoke to him while he was checking your vitals this morning._**

  
Orion recycled his optics at him, but nodded in understanding, sipping soundlessly from the cube. Rung hummed as he watched the red and blue mech shake his helm in agreement, tapping his digit against his jawline.

  
“And I have been told this is to formally explain yourselves and your state of affairs to him?”

  
He asked inquisitively, receiving another even nod from the silver mech. His crimson optics met the psychologists rounded ones.

  
“We fell from the sky into the middle of your city. We caused quite a bit of chaos. But we mean no harm and wish for the officials to know that directly from us.”

  
Exchanging half-surprised expressions with the CMO, Rung paused in thought before replying.

  
“… It will definitely help your case to speak to an official yourselves, especially Optimus from my perspective. However, this is another tremendous step for the both of you, are you entirely comfortable taking it?”

  
This time, the couple exchanged expressions. Their fields echoed one another, resembling something like resolve to the other mechs in the room. Tron was not as quick to answer, but no less poised.

  
“It is necessary to take, Rung. We have acknowledged this and have made this decision on our own as well.”

  
The psychologist was caught off guard. Whenever he’d seemed to have made a steadfast conclusion about this couple, they would act completely different. At their worst, their actions were driven by panicked instinct and their behavior bordered the line of primitive. At their best, they were intelligent, well-mannered, and unbelievably brave. It was two very different sides of a coin, flipping at the most unexpected moments that Rung didn’t know _what_ the best decision was regarding them.

  
Ratchet responded when the psychologist did not, gesturing unconsciously as he went about it.

  
“Rung, I agree this is quite a large request to make in their current conditions, but it cannot be avoided. The other officials are already wary of their arrival, and I believe it would be wise for them to explain themselves first before anything is forced.”

  
He turned towards Tron and Orion before continuing.

  
“I have already contacted Optimus, anyway. He wanted me to relay to you that he will be glad to formally meet tomorrow morning.”

  
Tron and Orion collectively recycled their optics at the CMO, then at each other in astonishment. Clearly, they hadn’t expected such quick results. But, swamped in paperwork or not, the Prime had always been prompt, and never turned down a call from an old friend. Ratchet’s lip plate curled up in a slight smirk at the responses, flashing them a wink where Rung, who blinked owlishly at the medic, wouldn’t see.

  
“Well then, I suppose you’re right. It cannot be avoided. I would hope however to be allowed a part of this meeting? A psychiatric point of view may also be of assistance in determining what would be the best course of action after Orion is well enough to depart from the hospital.”

  
To everyone’s surprise, it was the meek voice of Orion who answered.

  
“Your input would be greatly appreciated in the matter.”

  
_There it was again_ , Ratchet couldn’t help but think to himself. _Just like the Prime would say._ It unnerved him as much as it intrigued him, and he wondered if he shouldn’t take a part in this meeting as well as he watched the psychologist nod in thanks to Orion’s approval. Checking his chronometer, the medic held back a huff and waved a servo at the rest of them.

  
“Primus. Forgive me, but I must depart, or _I’ll_ be the one late to the next systems check appointment waiting downstairs. Rung, I will ask you do the same so that my patient can rest.”

  
Rung’s field echoed immediate understanding.

  
“Of course.”

  
Ratchet’s gaze then fell on Tron.

  
“I will be back later this evening to conduct a thorough systems examination on _you_. In the meantime, I expect you to know what to do in case of any problems that may arise.”

  
Crimson optics flicked toward the emergency button on the steadily beeping monitor, and Ratchet took the action as a ‘yes.’

  
“I will take my leave, then. Rung.”

  
He signaled to the psychologist, stepping back from the berth to hold the curtain open. Rung wordlessly followed after smiling gently at the couple in farewell for now. The curtain swished behind them, and both professionals left the room with only the sounds of their retreating steps to mark their exit. Megatron and Optimus were left in the accompaniment of the monitors and machines.

  
**_… Tomorrow morning it will be then._**

  
The Prime whispered over the bond, more to himself than his bonded. But it was still heard, and the silver mech sighed and shifted to draw his himself up on the berth, elbow perched underneath himself as he lounged lazily on his side.

  
**_So it will be._**

  
He watched as Optimus placed the half empty second cube on the tray beside the berth. Then he flipped his frame on his side away from where the two mecha had exited, arms pulling in to wrap tentatively over his front. Blue optics traveled down to meet with the red of his bonded perched lower on the berth.

  
**_What if they are wrong? What if this mech proves to be dangerous to us?_**

  
Fear danced in his field and dotted his optics. Megatron couldn’t provide comfort, not when the same fear lingered in the depths of his spark. Not when his partner could feel it just as well as he could. He reached upward, offering a clawed servo, and Optimus grasped it. Their optics traced over the details of each other’s frame, storing a memory file that had already been made out of a desperation-induced habit.

  
**_We’ll stay together, and we’ll find a way to survive._**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Ok, so guys, I just read this really cute mpreg fic...   
> Optimus:  
> Megatron:  
> Me: And I was wondering if you might consider-  
> Optimus: *gasps*   
> Megatron: ABSOLUTELY NOT!  
> Optimus: O.O  
> Megatron: I REFUSE TO BE INVOLVED WITH SPARKLINGS!  
> Optimus: O.O   
> Megatron: THEY'RE LOUD, THEY'RE ANNOYING, THEY'RE MESSY, AND THEY'RE-  
> Optimus: :'(  
> Megatron: They're-  
> Optimus: T.T  
> Megatron: O.O  
> Optimus: T.T  
> Megatron: Wait a minute, let me rephrase that-
> 
> Me: ... It was at this point he knew, he fucked up.


	23. Reflection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usually I'd say for this kind of event we'd just hit the ground running. But this is a delicate situation, so we'll start a little slow for the sake of the bots I've already driven insane.

If someone were to ask the ex-warlord of the Decepticons, a couple eons ago, what was it about Optimus Prime he took for granted, he would’ve answered rather defensively that he appreciated everything his bonded ever was and still came to be.

  
If someone were to ask the ex-warlord in the present what he might’ve taken for granted, he would instantly admit that it was the Prime’s life and endless love for him, something he knew he needed as much as fuel and vowed that he would never be so aloof again.

  
However, something he wouldn’t have thought to admit that he took for granted, was Optimus Prime’s curves.

  
Curves adorned every bit of his frame. The slope of his broad shoulders, accompanied by his cylinder-like smokestacks. The circular structure of his revolving tires perched on his long leg struts. The concave width of his abdomen, indenting between his chest and his hips in the shape of an hourglass. The rounded breadth of his hip joints, arching around the smooth silver of his thigh struts. He loved every bit of the Prime’s frame, including those curves, but he had not recognized or truly appreciated them for a long time.

  
This cycle, he would, because the Optimus Prime of this universe did not have curves.

  
He was tall, though definitely not at tall as himself. Most likely just as tall as his bonded. His shoulders were hexagonal, shaped by six distinct sides topped by two connected plates that lay over in a low-angled triangle. His chest was somehow even flatter than his bonded’s, and the span of his abdomen and waist was that of a thickened box. He couldn’t tell where the hip joints of this mech plugged into the main frame, nor could he tell how. Extra plating layered around it, folding and angling over the base of his square thigh struts. There were no wheels on his gigantic peds. Even his helm design felt strange; the arch in the center was too high, the crest in the center was too small, and his antennae were twice the size of his bonded’s.

  
_A reality opposite from our own... Worlds and life created through similar processes, set into different circumstances._

  
Megatron had heard his lumbering steps before finally seeing him in the present. He’d walked in with the CMO, just a few kliks after Rung had entered, greeted them good morning, and had inquired after Orion’s well-being. The Prime and the CMO had been talking quietly, he couldn’t quite pick up their words. But he could hear the fluctuations of a deep and extremely similar voice. Despite what he heard, he shouldn’t have expected an identical bot. Not when the curtain pulled back and the mech stepped in, and the ex-warlord felt at first as though he were staring at a complete stranger. But his color scheme was the same, if not a brighter silver. So was his presence; that breath-taking, slightly ethereal presence that read _power_.

  
_Perpendicular existence… Looking into a mirror and seeing yourself in a different life._

  
Optimus— _his_ Optimus—froze when the sound of his steps reached his audials. The wisps of a familiar electromagnetic energy echoed through the room and his field yanked inwards, braced so tight not even Megatron could feel it beyond their joined servos.

  
_Anxiety. Dread. Apprehension._

  
The Prime walked through the curtain, and his bonded fell silent. Cerulean blue optics met an identical pair, and time seemed to stop. Two sparks made of the same star from mirrored universes clashed like two sides of a broken magnet, unable to decide whether to be drawn in by the inexplicable pull they felt or to keep their distance by the repulsion of their forces. The tendrils of the spark connecting to Megatron’s stilled over their bond, and all at once the empty quiet between them threatened to overwhelm him. It unsteadied him, and he sucked in a deep vent of air as he also stared at the mech before them.

  
The blocky Optimus Prime’s battle mask was pulled down over his faceplates. Megatron knew his own Prime well enough that he understood it was a guarded gesture. He did it when he knew he couldn’t hold a stoic expression, and among his subordinates, that was what mattered. It no longer unnerved him, not when he could read the blocky mech’s optics. They flashed brightly, unguarded surprise and confusion revolving in their depths. It lasted for a matter of nanoseconds, but it felt like an eternity. When they shifted to the silver mech, the spell cast over the room dissipated. Beside him, his bonded’s helm lowered, shock roiling in his field where he could feel it through their servos. Optimus Prime stared at him for a longer eternity, and the blue helm tipped sideways in such a slight movement he didn’t know if he was actually imagining it. Megatron met his gaze evenly, waiting for him to react. If the Prime was anything like his own, then his reaction could be one of many. But most likely, after a lifetime of holding strong like a stone amidst a stormy sea, he would do as was expected of him.

  
The bulky mech finally made his move, inclining his helm in a gesture of greeting and respect.

  
“Good morning.”

  
He spoke, the sterling silver surrounding his optics shifting upwards to show that under his mask he was grinning politely. The base tone of his voice rolled through the room, and Megatron almost lost himself in the swarm of memory files of _that voice_ surfacing into the forefront of his processor.

  
“I am Optimus Prime, leader of the Cybertronian populace residing on Earth. Welcome to our city.”

  
A response was expected of him, this Megatron knew. The optics of the CMO and the psychologist were now upon him as well, waiting. He fought to keep his expression neutral under the weighted implications that were crushing him into the ground. There could be no doubt; his bonded was right. This couldn’t have been anything from their own universe, this was beyond that comprehension. This was at the other side of the spectrum. This could’ve only been another universe.

  
_Primus, help us._

  
He squeezed the black servo of his bonded to reassure himself that this was the actual reality of the present moment, and he spoke.

  
“Thank you, Optimus Prime. I am Tron, and this is my bonded, Orion.”

  
Something inside of him curled as he spoke introductions. It felt _wrong_ , so utterly wrong to call another mech by that name he treasured so much. But, the psyche bot’s field pulsed with a note of honest satisfaction from his proper greeting before leveling out to be neutral again. His optics were on the Prime, though, and he watched as the mech’s optics flashed once again and he shifted subtly after he spoke. It was only by knowing the stoicism of a leader so well that he knew it was more of a flinch.

  
_Flinching… at my voice?_

  
That was unusual to him. Optimus had never flinched at his voice before, not even at opposite sides of the war. It brought another thought to mind, one that he hadn’t considered until now: his bonded had a reflection here… did _he_? If his voice elicited a reaction from the bulky mech, then perhaps it was true. Decepticon soldiers used to say after watching them battle that there was no Megatron without Optimus Prime. Likewise, Autobots would whisper in his captivity that Optimus Prime always knew his path in battle, and it was straight to the warlord. There would be no Optimus Prime without Megatron. Across universes, after meeting more than one familiar face, it was highly possible.

  
But to draw a flinch out of Optimus Prime merely by speaking… what kind of mech was he in this universe? What were his circumstances?

  
As quickly as his musings came about, they were brought to an end when the moment passed. The bulky mech was once again stoic as his optics looked between them and processed their names. He folded his servos in front of him quietly as he spoke.

  
“Tron, Orion, it is a pleasure to meet you. And I am pleased to see you are in better health.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing... Megatron's first reaction to a perpendicular universe: 
> 
> MTMTE Optimus: *walks in the room  
> Megatron: O.O  
> Megatron: Fucking hell you're ugly


	24. Institutionalization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look a long chapter. I'm gonna go crash into a coma now.

The CMO, who’s presence in the room had nearly been forgotten until now, huffed lightly at the statement with a tired grin. All optics in the room came to rest on him.

  
“Well, better than the status of scrap heaps. There’s a certain mech’s _backplates_ that still need attending to, if Knockout would cease his childish antics about rust.”

  
He pointedly looked at the silver mech, who fought not to shrug. The old medic had nearly blown a gasket last cycle when he saw Tron’s hind side, demanding to know why he hadn’t come to him before and berating himself for letting it remain that way for so long. After grinding away the edges that had dug into the protoform and stitching the gashes they made, he’d called the surgeon for cosmetic repairs. However, _that_ turned into an argument of fear of rust infection and resemblance to ‘old buckethead,’ a nickname Megatron now had the feeling was possibly dedicated to his reflection. The argument lasted over a groon, thanks to the notification of his repaired chronometer, ending in his marred and deformed back armor remaining the same.

  
The metal around the Prime’s optics crinkled upwards, and he reached out to set a servo on the CMO’s shoulder.

  
“You’ve done everything you can and more, old friend. That is all we can ask for.”

  
Ratchet rolled his optics in fond exasperation, turning his helm to look up at the Prime as he waved off the compliment. Orion’s optics slowly drew up and he watched as something passed between them, an aged and humored, but good-natured and fond emotion. He knew that emotion, he remembered it well. It was shared only by the Prime and the Autobot medic, after eons of friendship forged by the age of revolution and a millennia of war. It was there, it had flourished, and it had been lost.

  
_“You did this. You killed us.”_

  
_Grief. Regret._

  
It pressed down on him from all angles and squeezed his spark so hard he was about to choke on a mournful cry. Clenching his optics shut, he bent his helm again and clamped all his vents shut. His frame was tense, and it was all he could do to hold his field in and shut the world out. The world that had taken his friends, his family, all of his people from him. Over their bond, the light tendrils of his partner’s spark caressed over him, flaring out when they felt the other pull inward and shiver.

  
_**Vent, my beloved. Don’t hold it in. I’m right here.**_

  
Empathy circulated in those words. Optimus felt the embrace of the silver mech’s spark engulf him, pouring warmth into the icy chill. He let go of his vents, feeling the air whooshing from his piping, and then focused on repeating the pattern. Intake, and release. Intake, and release… When he opened his optics again, he found himself leaning against the silver mech. A clawed servo stroked over his waist and hip tenderly, and the shoulder his helm leaned against sheltered him. He looked out, finding that Rung’s optics were on him, ever observant and bordering the line of concern. On his side, the CMO and the bulky Prime both heeded their attention on his bonded. He found as he listened to the silver mech’s controlled Kaoni rasp that the conversation had continued, even with his slip from reality.

  
“—we did not intend any harm.”

  
“One’s circumstances sometimes cannot be helped, Tron. I understand. No one was harmed in the process, so neither I nor the rest of the city officials have any reason to hold it against you.”

  
The other Prime’s black servo curled as he brought it to his chin, his bright blue optics drifting as he hummed in thought. After a few nanoseconds, they turned back to the silver mech.

  
“Though, if I may ask, since you did not travel by ship how did you come to be here, and by what force?”

  
Tron stiffened, and his optics sank. Beside him, his bonded shared a sudden climb in nervousness. _What to tell them, he thought to himself, without arousing suspicion? What to tell them without giving ourselves away?_ It was almost amusing. The ex-warlord used to find such thrill in lying, such entertainment in twisting the truth to make a mech believe anything he wanted them to. Now, he scrambled to come up with something that would suffice. The captors had made a deadened fool of him— _the captors_. His optics dilated. An idea surfaced, and once again he met the optics of the other Prime.

  
“Before this… we were held as captives of beings with greatly advanced technology.”

  
Optimus Prime’s optics flashed once more, and Ratchet’s faceplates softened. Rung’s optics widened, and his helm leaned forward in the slightest, an understanding and curious expression overtaking them. Tron tried not to think about what he was saying and held his bonded tighter when he shivered as dread snapped through their bond.

  
“They were in possession of highly powerful space bridges, which transported matter through time and space instantaneously. About a decacycle ago, we were able to escape their captivity and utilize one of their bridges. But in the process, the bridge malfunctioned and transported us here.”

  
The silver mech looked down, finding the brilliant cerulean blue optics of his bonded staring back at him from his shoulder. Drawing any amount of strength he could from the sight of their light, he sighed shortly.

  
“They could’ve easily followed us, but they did not. The only inference I can make as to ‘why,’ that is the case, is the bridge was rendered beyond repair after malfunctioning… Nevertheless, we landed here.”

  
It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it was enough of the truth to be painful in itself to remember. Apprehension reared itself over the bond.

  
**_Do you truly think so, Megatron?_**

  
His intake constricted, knowing the weight of those words if he was wrong. The silver mech forced himself to swallow as he leaned down to nuzzle against the other’s blue antennae.

  
**_We can only hope._**

  
The other three bots were silent as they considered his words. Their expressions didn’t seem to convey that they thought he was lying, which was a good sign. Then again, one most likely wouldn’t think you were lying by such a claim when you acted like they had for the past decacycle. Ratchet had taken up the other Optimus’s gesture, tapping his digits against his chin as he mulled over the explanation.

  
“Space bridges…”

  
The medic stated in no small amount of awe, turning to the Prime with wide optics.

  
“We haven’t seen that kind of technology in—”

  
“… a hundred vorn now, since the war ended, and we arrived on Earth.”

  
Optimus Prime finished for him, sharing a look of wonderment.

  
A hundred vorn? It wasn’t nearly as long as they’d spent imprisoned, but it was long enough to surprise Tron and Orion. They glanced at each other uneasily, questions of _how_ exactly the war played out here tugging at their processors harshly, because it definitely lasted longer than theirs.

  
Rung was the next to speak, entirely focused on the couple.

  
“Why were you imprisoned by these beings?”

  
He asked softly, eliciting the attention of Tron and Orion. The silver mech hesitated, optics lowering as he thought over the question for an answer. It was at least a couple kliks before he answered again. If the psychologist looked closely, he could see shining silver claws shaking against blue armor.

  
“… We don’t know. They never told us their ulterior motives.”

  
Rung’s optics grew distant with contemplation as the other Optimus Prime’s helm visibly leaned forward with serious-toned interest.

  
“Did you know of any other prisoners in these beings’ captivity, Tron?”

  
_Sorrow_.

  
Crimson optics did not meet the three pairs of blue upon him this time. He shook his bowed helm as he spoke.

  
“Too many species to count.”

  
All three beings standing before the medical berth straightened, and a graveness washed through their fields. Ratchet’s optics immediately echoed a great amount of unease, and he turned to the city leader.

  
“Such cruel beings with _that_ kind of power. Power that has already reached us so recently…”

  
Tron’s optics finally lifted as he realized the medic’s automatic fear of invasion. He couldn’t blame him, he still feared the same. His optics flicked between him and the bulky Prime that turned to him with a familiar gesturing servo.

  
“It is definitely a severe warning to keep in mind and look into, Ratchet. But as it is, I believe Tron has a point. They have yet to infiltrate the city, so the space bridge they used must have been destroyed. For the moment, it is another battle for another time. Right now, our priority is here with the survivors we can aid.”

  
The CMO slowly nodded as the Prime spoke. Reasoning was, after all, one of the Prime’s greatest weapons. The silver mech felt a grim sort of relief that it translated over universes.

  
“… To have traveled here by space bridge, you both must be a long way from your home.”

  
Rung’s voice pulled at his audials, and it took Tron a klik to realize that the psychologist had resurfaced to pull further at their background. His spark constricted, and his bonded’s flared at the word ‘home.’ The orange bot did not take any notice to it.

  
“Do you have any close family or friends that might be looking for you?”

  
_Pain_.

  
Faces passed over the forefront of their processors. Their screams tore at the couple’s audials. Orion flinched and gasped.

  
“… D-Dead-!!”

  
The other Prime, the CMO and the psychologist simultaneously turned towards the red and blue mech with wide optics. It was the first time he’d spoken since the beginning of their meeting. Tron only shuttered his optics and focused on the sensation of his bonded’s frame against his arms, trying to fight against the memory files having overtaken his conscious thoughts. When he finally had control again, hopeless red optics on the brim of torture met the three seas of blue.

  
“Our recent home was invaded by our captors. They killed everyone except us.”

  
Optimus Prime’s optics flashed again, and this time sympathy reigned through them as well as his field. The CMO’s optics, on the other hand, flashed with confusion and a noticeable edge of disturbance. He gestured to the couple absently as he spoke up next.

  
“But that makes no sense. Why would they kidnap you and kill all others? There’s no example to set if they give you no ulterior motive of hatred, and if it was purely for enslavement they would’ve taken all of you.”

  
“Ratchet…”

  
Rung butted in quickly and sternly, concern for both mech’s mental stability as his optics caught them fidgeting and clinging tighter to each other with each passing nanosecond. He had no time to voice the matter, however, when Orion suddenly clutched at his helm and whined. Rung remembered the action from the first time he had visited them in their cell. What changed is when his helm tore up and his optics blazed at the CMO in their brightest setting.

  
“STOP IT! STOP IT! NO MORE!”

  
He screamed, his vocals rising to their highest setting. All mecha jumped back when his field suddenly broke free and flailed uncontrollably with strain and panic. The tone and frequency of the monitor’s beeps both rose dramatically, indicating an abrupt and high level of stress to the processor. Ratchet instantly shook himself of his shocked stupor to try to reach it and analyze its readings. But he was halted mid-step by a deep, thunderously booming growl, and he met an enraged pair of blood red optics staring him down.

  
“ _Don’t_ come any closer.”

  
He snarled, angling his spiked shoulders to point at the medic. The other Optimus Prime, whom had been stunned into silence at Orion’s outburst and field, came back to himself in time to habitually shift into a defensive stance. He grabbed Ratchet and pulled him out of the way to put himself in the line of fire, electric blue optics staring piercingly at the silver mech. But instead of attacking, as the bulky Prime had come to expect from the ages of war, his shoulders shifted back, and his sneer dissipated into a thin line. Instead of attacking, the silver mech pulled his bonded closer to let him bury his helm against the crook of his neck cables and shoulder and hushed him.

  
Rung stepped up next to him, urgently gesturing for him to back away.

  
“Optimus, Ratchet, please step back. Give them space.”

  
Recycling his optics, the Prime quickly relented and pedaled back a few paces, watching as Tron crooned and soothed Orion. He was surely speaking to him through the bond they shared. After a moment passed, Optimus Prime opened a comm link with the psychologist to avoid spooking either of them again.

  
**Rung, how often does this happen?**

  
The psychologist’s helm tipped towards him, but never left the couple.

  
**At least once in almost every interaction I’ve had with them.**

  
Something cold curled around the leader’s spinal strut at the statement, and he physically turned to stare with wide optics at the psychological professional.

  
**What triggers these episodes?**

  
Rung’s shoulder’s minutely slumped, and he could almost hear the sigh come from his intake.

  
**From what I’ve gathered thus far, it could be almost anything. Orion will react to anything from a single spoken word to an object or a mentioning of his past. Once started, only Tron has proven able to calm him. His anger at others is a direct product of his bonded’s fear.**

  
The claws of the silver mech stroked up and down his dorsal plating, and the red and blue mech’s tense frame had finally started to relax. He visibly slumped against his bonded, panting for air to cool his hot and overwhelmed frame. The monitor’s beeps started to lower in volume, resuming a more normal state of being. It amazed Optimus how swiftly a mech like Tron could effectively pacify another being like Orion.

  
**What is your official diagnosis for each of them, doctor? And what do you think we should do to aid them?**

  
Straightening and folding his arm struts behind his back at the question, the psychologist looked up and directly at the Prime.

  
**I diagnose them both with severe cases of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Separation Anxiety, and a rather odd case of codependency. For they rely on each other for mental stability, but they are not enabling each other’s conditions… While I am not sure of these yet, I believe Orion might also be suffering from Social Anxiety Disorder, as characterized by his timid behavior in social situations, and Tron might also be subjected to Borderline Personality Disorder, as characterized by his aggression and protective behavior of Orion.**

  
Optimus’s spark ached. There were almost no bots in the city that had so many disorders as these survivors. Rung’s optics traveled back to the couple, watching for a few nanoseconds as they came back to themselves, before continuing.

  
**As for aiding each of them… That will be difficult, Optimus. You know as well as I that an illness of the spark and mind aren’t as easy to cure. In addition, from the sounds of it, they have nowhere else to go now. Their home was destroyed, they have no close relatives or friends, and even if we could help them to go back the way they came, their captors might be looking for them.**

  
He couldn’t hide a flinch. Rung was right. All space bridges were out of their reach, and even if they were, what did these bots have to go back to? More torture? Technically speaking, they were safer and better off here in the city, where they wouldn’t have to be alone. But that did not mean being here would be easy for them.

  
**In my professional opinion, I recommend they be institutionalized in our maximum security facility for at least another few decacycles. This will give time for them to adjust to their new location, time for myself to assess their conditions and start treatment, and time for you and the other high officials to come to an agreement on their official stature here.**

  
The bulky Prime nodded absently as he ruminated over Rung’s statement and observed the couple. They didn’t deserve immediate institutionalization after such brutal imprisonment. It wasn’t right to him. Freedom was the right of all sentient beings, and to him this felt like shoving them right back into another cell. But, these were times when the decisions came down to what was best for everyone. He could only hope Tron and Orion would understand. With that in mind as crimson optics finally rose to stare at them again, he gave a final nod in Rung’s direction.

  
**Institutionalization is granted, Rung. But only so long as it is absolutely necessary.**

  
Red clashed with blue, and the other Prime’s spark pulsed.

  
**I refuse to see them suffer behind bars so long as I can help it.**

  
Rung nodded once to show he understood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Optimus: *pokes at the author's lifeless body*  
> Optimus: Oh dear, this can't be good.   
> Megatron: ... This calls for drastic measures -.-  
> Optimus: ?  
> Megatron: *starts purposely speaking loudly*  
> Megatron: LOOK OPTIMUS! A NEW MEGOP WORK WAS JUST POSTED!  
> Me: *jerks out of a coma*  
> Me: WHERE? WHEN? I MUST READ IT!   
> Megatron: And she lives.


	25. Chasms of Thought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, like 20 kliks after the meeting ends...
> 
> (This is one of those short in between chapters that I just had to torture you guys with)

The door of his office burst open as Optimus Prime strode in.

  
Usually he closed it afterwards. He liked the quiet of a closed space to work and think.

  
This cycle, the thought didn’t even occur that he should. His processor was whirling. Spinning like a cyclone in so many different directions he did not know which one to focus on. It caused him to pace, securely wrapping his arm struts around his front as he usually did when something bothered him. Up and down, up and down, he walked in front of his desk, cerulean blue optics bright with emotion as they stared securely at the floor.

  
He couldn’t think. He didn’t know what to think.

  
Memory files of the earlier events hovered at the forefront of his processor, and he let them replay once more. They were surely accurate; his optical lenses were functioning at full capacity and so was his audial antennae. His processor also functioned smoothly, not a hitch in concentration, dispensation, or storage of files.

  
So he couldn’t blame what he’d just seen on any fault of his own.

  
He stopped when he came to one specific memory file: the one of Orion, the red and blue mech who’s processor Ratchet had repaired, meeting his optics for the first time. _His… Or are they mine?_ His metal brows furrowed at the questions pounded at him. _Why does he look and sound so much like… me?_ The Prime’s servos hit the desk as he searched for something to stabilize himself.

  
_His appearance. His voice. His background… His bonded._

  
Optimus Prime’s spark lurched as those crimson optics came to the surface again, and suddenly he could barely stand.

  
There was only one other bot he knew that look even remotely like Tron… But it couldn’t be… _They_ couldn’t be… How could they _possibly_ be?

  
But everything about them… It was almost like drawing a parallel line between them. Like looking into a mirror and seeing yourself again. The Prime wouldn’t lie that it scared the ever-living pit out of him.

  
Blue cerulean optics clenched shut, and his helm hung low between his arms as he fought to control his train of thought. Everything was cluttered and confusing. He didn’t know what to think, or how to think. The Prime didn’t even hear when a bot approached his office, stopping at the open door.

  
“Commander Prime, sir?”

  
Optimus jerked his helm upwards at the call, finding Prowl, the city’s leading enforcer standing in the doorway. His optics apprehensively looked from the open door to him. He knew well that the Prime always kept his door closed.

  
“Sir, are you alright?”

  
The Prime turned away for a moment and shut off his optics, shaking his helm to try and rid himself of the dizzying spin. He only found crimson optics waiting for him, and they made him all the dizzier. He slowly twisted back to the Autobot enforcer with raw, bemused and lost optics.

  
“… I don’t know, Prowl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have finally figured out Rung's evil plan.
> 
> Me: RUNG!!  
> Rung: *stands up so fast from his rocking chair that his cube of energon goes flying*  
> Rung: What?! What did I do?!  
> Me: I DON'T KNOW! I KEEP GETTING COMMENTS THAT EVERYONE'S SUSPICIOUS OF YOU SO I'M GOING WITH IT! WHAT DO YOU PLAN TO DO??  
> Rung: ....  
> Me: ....  
> Rung: ....  
> Me: ....   
> Rung: Analysis.  
> Me: O.O  
> Rung: I'm going to analyze the scrap out of your precious prisoners.  
> Megatron: O.O  
> Optimus: O.O  
> Me: You psychological piece of shit.


	26. No Sight; No Sound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And just because I had today off from work and got to finally sit down and write... Here you go. Another chapter. Enjoy. Don't judge.

Megatron was absolutely livid.

  
After eons of imprisonment, torture, and suffering they had finally escaped by the paint on their armor… Only to be put back behind a locked door for the third time in a row.

  
But he hadn’t shown his anger in front of the bots of this universe. No, he’d been careful to stay silent and in check as they explained their reasoning. It was sound, of course, and the small part of his processor that was still sane told him he should really agree to it for his and his Prime’s sakes. If they’d noticed his servos had curled around his bonded’s abdomen were twitching, so be it. They wouldn’t soon know it was to keep himself from clawing at their throats.

  
It was only after they all left, closed the recovery room’s door and the lock clicked, that he’d stood up and begun pacing beside the medical berth. He was tempted to claw at the curtains to release more of his pent up rage, but there was medical equipment on the other side that would be better off out of sight. Optimus’s leg struts were pulled up to his chest. He rested his chin on his knee joints and watched silently as the silver mech seethed, growled and stomped from one side to the other. This went on for about four groons, until about midday when Optimus was the one who finally broke the silence.

  
Megatron only realized his mistake when a burst of self-destructive misery punched his spark over the bond, and Optimus’s quiet sobs reached his audials. He’d scrambled back to the berth-side, convinced that he was having another flashback, but was shocked into silence when the Prime grabbed his helm in both servos and shook him with a snarl.

  
_“STOP IT,”_ he’d said. _“YOUR ANGER IS POINTLESS MEGATRON! WE HAVE BEEN CORRUPTED! DRIVEN INSANE! CAN’T YOU SEE THAT? IF WE ARE NOT IN DANGER THE MOMENT WE ARE RELEASED, WE WILL BE A DANGER TO EVERYONE ELSE!”_

  
Of course he’d seen it. That didn’t mean he’d wanted to accept it.

  
_“I cannot go out there, Megatron. Not now. I can’t…”_

  
His fear, his anguish, and his pain were all too much to ignore for freedom.

  
So just like that, a very chastised silver mech had joined his bonded on the berth once again and for Optimus’s sake, had begun to let it go. If his bonded had felt the dwindling aggravation in his spark, he didn’t comment on it further.

  
The evening passed into the next day, and the next day after that without further incidence. Megatron and Optimus took turns recharging, the other staying awake to do what they could to keep the nightmares at bay. It took a lot more coaxing to get Optimus to recharge, and when he did it was fitful and uneasy unless Megatron completely submerged himself in their bond. Such a feat was difficult when he was still aggravated. The night the Prime had recharged he’d woken up five times screaming, three of which sprung into a panic attack. After that, the silver mech decided the next time they saw Rung, he really needed to ask him for a way to control his anger.

  
When he finally got the chance two solar cycles later, it was the day Optimus was officially declared well enough to leave the hospital. That morning, Ratchet did a final, thorough systems check on the both of them. He’d even performed cosmetic repairs for the silver mech’s back plates as an apology for setting Orion off those few cycles before. He was definitely no Knockout, but it was another substantial improvement. Afterwards Rung, the other Optimus Prime, and Ironhide also entered the room to escort them to the maximum security facility. In the face of so many mecha at once, his bonded never spoke a word and refused to release the death grip he had on the other’s arm strut. His frantic field told Megatron he was also on the verge of another attack.

  
What made it all the more frustrating is that neither the psychologist or the CMO would allow Optimus to be knocked out and simply carried over, which would’ve made the process so much easier. But, in the words of the CMO, his motor and reaction functions needed to be assessed at least one more time. In the words of the psychologist, he needed to be exposed to the trip over before entering the facility so that when they were released, he wouldn’t be experiencing the city for the first time ever since having schizophrenic symptoms. Well, sound reasoning or not, it did nothing to aid when Optimus finally had his first panic attack of the day when the curtains were opened, and he viewed the medical equipment lining the wall.

  
Megatron ended up telling his bonded to shut off his optical lenses and his audial receptors. Then, he grabbed one of the Prime’s servos, curled another around his waist, and guided him forward. Rung voiced the concern multiple times that rendering him blind and deaf for the trip over would completely disorient and frighten him further. However, because Megatron knew how much they both had relied on the sensation of touch after the captors had rewired his processor, it ended up working better than expected. They held on tight to each other physically as well as over the bond, talking to each other with every step to distract Optimus from the fear still roiling in his energon.

  
None of them even tried to argue when the silver mech stopped and carried his bonded down the stairs from the recovery room to the waiting room on the bottom floor of the hospital.

  
The city streets and towering buildings above them were a sensory overload that made him nervous. The mecha surrounding him acting like guards didn’t help. But he clamped down on it, pushing it all to the way side in favor of keeping his bonded as calm as was possible. He thought he’d felt Rung’s impressed field at his back right side in the middle of the journey, but he couldn’t be sure. Perhaps it was Ratchet’s.

  
When they’d finally reached the facility, he took the chance to gaze at it. It still looked like as much of a prison as he remembered, and he huffed a bit indignantly. What he did finally take notice of is that the maximum security prison was guarded by only one mech; a mech of gargantuan size. His ped was the actual door. He stopped himself from inhaling too quickly when the mech stooped down to one knee before them, forcing himself to calm down when Optimus pressed into his side anxiously. The giant merely glanced at the both of them with cool but gentle blue optics. He asked the officials entering for ID, which all four bots showed immediately, and Rung thanked Fortress Maximus with a smile before they entered. He would later remember that Maximus was the bot Rung had mentioned on the first day he’d visited them.

  
Progress had gone fairly smooth up to that point. They’d headed down to the end of the hallway on the first floor, where the larger containment cells were located. It had drawn a bemused expression and raised optical brows from the ex-warlord when the psychologist informed him that they would be moved to new quarters. A cell was a cell in their perspective; what was the difference? In response, Rung had simply sighed and lamented that they should’ve never been thrown in their original cell in the first place. The new one they would be moved to would be much better suited for their needs.

  
Megatron wasn’t inclined to change his opinion until he’d seen it for himself.

  
It was in the last three lengths of hallway with about two doors between where they stood and their cell that Rung suggested Orion turn on his optical and auditory sensors. The silver mech stared at him incredulously for at least two kliks, only breaking optical contact when the other Prime rang in with an infuriating agreement. When all four bots chorused a _yes_ against him, he knew neither of them would have any further choice in the matter. So, with a careful nudge over the bond, Tron coaxed Orion to turn on his optical lenses and audial receptors.

  
Blue cerulean optics had flickered on and recycled twice as he looked around at their surroundings in the plain hallway. The bots around him had backed up a step to avoid crowding, but he still hesitated to meet any of their optics. Rung had asked Orion how he felt; he’d chosen not to reply verbally, instead pushing closer to Tron’s side uncomfortably, silently asking they continue to their destination.

  
The cell across from theirs, they found, belonged to the only other occupant of the maximum security facility. Orion had frozen in place with a freaked flicker of his field when he glanced through the windows of two locked doors to find a pair of green optics blinking at him from the other side. Tron paused next to him, his plating flaring in warning at whatever had spooked his bonded. The other bot only tilted his narrow white helm curiously at the pair, leaning against his side of door lazily. After a klik as Ironhide opened the door to their cell, Rung also came over to see what had their attention. At the sight of the bot on the other side, he smiled kindly and waved, which to the surprise of the pair elicited a smile and wave back. The psychologist then elaborated that the bot inside was prone to episodes of severe aggression and sometimes had uncontrollable violent fits that cost the city two buildings and a flight runway. But he was also was one of the city’s most brilliant technological inventors, and when in control he was a polite and friendly bot.

  
Ironhide had then signaled them over, and with one more glance spared at the other bot, they warily entered their new cell. The first door shut behind them, making them both flinch as it slammed, and through the window they witnessed Ironhide standing guard. After exchanging nervous expressions, they’d followed Rung into the cell… and halted in step. Their vents stalled, and their optics cycled as wide as they could go.

  
Neither of them could associate the word cell with the room they’d just stepped into. It was better fit to be called an entire living space.

  
The space spanned about three times bigger than the cell they’d been placed into last, and at least five times bigger than their cave in the catacombs. Cream-colored walls were lit by a single circular light in the center of the ceiling, also casting light on the furniture in the room. Alongside the left wall was a decently sized desk and chair, with a single datapad connected to a charging cord placed in the middle of the counter top. Directly across from it on the right wall was a decent-sized sink made of a shining titanium material, cleaned and ready for use. Underneath the dome of the sink was a two-door cabinet, identical to the cabinet sitting to the right of the desk as well. In the far right of the room, a two-bot berth sat comfortably in the corner. Two white-covered pillows sat next to each other at the head, and a set of sheets and blankets had already been fixed on it, with two extra thermal blankets folded up at the end. The only indicator they found that this was the quarters of a prisoner came to be the elongated glass window casting light over the berth. On the other side of the glass were bars. But even they did not obstruct the rather nice view of the city beyond.

  
Orion had raised a shaking servo to his intake, almost unable to convince himself that this kind of a cell was real. Tron’s speechlessness rendered him unable to sneer at the psychologist to wipe that self-satisfied grin off of his faceplates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Megatron: So... you're just gonna leave us in there?  
> Me: Yep.   
> Megatron: ... For how long?  
> Me: ... Not sure. How long do you plan to steep in your problems?  
> Megatron: O.O  
> Megatron: -_-  
> Me: Now, wait a moment-  
> Me: *Spontaneously explodes*
> 
> Optimus: Megatron... We needed that.


	27. Brink of Extinction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I'd meant for this to just be a reprieve work to get myself out of writer's block, but it ended up getting over 3000 hits O.O
> 
> How the fuck did this happen?
> 
> Anyway, here's an insight to one of their first days in their new cell. Enjoy.

“… Unbelievable. Absolutely _unbelievable!”_

  
A rough Kaoni rasp roused him from rest, and Optimus let his optics cycle back into focus. He lifted his helm from where he’d laid it on his folded arms and propped his jaw on his right arm as he let the left arm dangle off the end of the berth.

  
“What is unbelievable, Megatron?”

  
His bonded had taken to sauntering back and forth next to the sink to expel his built up energy. It was one of the things he remembered fairly clearly from their time in their first cell in this facility. Eons as a slave of their captors had conditioned him to be ready to move at a moment’s notice. To be ready to work or run until his energy was long spent and he barely managed to crawl back to their cave. He’d slowly tempered to a normal state of being in which this energy did not need to be used, but it was impossible to expel it all by walking back and forth in a contained area. They would have to come up with a way to aid with that while they were here.

  
Lumbering grey peds halted in step and pivoted effortlessly one-hundred eighty degrees in the other direction to face him. Optimus looked up at his bonded’s disgruntled expression as he read something on the datapad they’d been allotted.

  
“One-hundred vorns this city has been stationed on this planet, yet not one bot has thought to construct ground bridges for transport! Not _one!”_

  
He threw his servos up as he ranted, and the dramatic gesture reminded Optimus fondly of a gladiator from lifetimes past. One side of his lip plate curled up as he watched, and his helm tipped the other way to view the ex-warlord at a better angle.

  
“I would think they have the technology to do so, not to mention the minds to engineer and build it. Not to mention, they’ve come to create _everything_ else! They’ve even created a string-like gelatin energon resembling human-made noodles!”

  
This time, Optimus couldn’t help but chuckle. Sliding his arm struts out in front of him, he pulled his shoulders back and curled his spinal strut upwards as he stretched. Feeling the joints and cables slide into place, he settled back on his stomach as he propped his elbows under himself.

  
“Energon resembling human-made noodles?”

  
Megatron looked at the Prime and huffed, tapping at the datapad with swift claws until grunting as he found what he was looking for and striding over to sit next to him. He showed him the pad, enlarging the image on it. Optimus’s optics widened as he witnessed that yes, indeed, that was jellied energon shaped to resemble noodles. He read the caption that stood underneath.

  
“… Zinc noodles.”

  
“These bots have enough time on their servos to make energon into… _this_ —”

  
The ex-warlord gestured to the datapad before throwing his servo up again.

  
“—Yet they haven’t even thought of ground bridges! They travel by boat and carrier plane to the rest of the continents on this planet. It’s _excruciatingly_ inefficient!”

  
He rose again to pace and grumble, leaving an indent in their layered bedding that slowly rose. Optimus absently brushed the wrinkles out of the blanket as he listened, a small grin resurfacing on his faceplates at the aggravation so familiar to him.

  
“Bridge technology is not the same as—jellying technology for energon. The other Prime did state that such has been out of their reach since their war ended and they stationed themselves here.”

  
Dull weld lines glinted on his black servo from the light bleeding through the window. His optics traced over them as he thought.

  
“Their reasons might also lie with taking residence on Earth. Humans have proven to let greed for power consume them when faced with greater knowledge. It’s best to leave such where they cannot reach it.”

  
The silver mech paused once again in his steps, and crimson optics focused on him with a raised metal brow.

  
“… Hmm, yes, such as that group of humans lead by—what was his designation… Silas! Yes, they who stole Breakdown’s frame. They called themselves… Oh beloved, what did they call themselves…?”

  
Optimus raised a metal brow at his bonded in turn with a tired smile.

  
“MECH.”

  
He said lightly, to which the silver mech snapped his digits in victory.

  
“Ah, yes! MECH! That’s what it was. Quite a bothersome group of pests, weren’t they?”

  
Humming in agreement, the Prime stretched out his elbows again to lay his helm down against his arm strut.

  
“They created a replica of my frame into an automated robot and destroyed human militia bases with it. I will not soon forget being stabbed by something not unlike myself turned sinister.”

  
This time, both of the silver mech’s metal brows furrowed. His field echoed disturbance as he placed the datapad on the edge of shelf over the berth.

  
“A sinister Optimus Prime… Now _that_ is something to imagine.”

  
Megatron thought out loud, more to himself than to his bonded. Optimus simply shrugged. It brought forward the malicious memory of another familiar dream. A dream that had indeed explored the question: what if Optimus was evil? Sickening yellow optics blinked at him from the back of his mind, and he shifted on the berth to fight off a shudder.

  
“It was an automation, nothing more… But after traveling universes, I think it would be unwise not to consider the idea, Megatron. For all we know, there could be infinite perpendicular dimensions revolving full circle around our own. There could be a universe in which our circumstances led to you receiving the Matrix instead, and me leading a revolt against the council.”

  
A couple millennia ago, the ex-warlord would’ve been thrilled by such an idea. He might’ve even thrown a jealous sneer in Optimus’s direction as his optics lingered on his chest plates. Now, he did none of it, and he found no thrill or joy in such a position. Now, the silver mech’s faceplates fell. The energy in his systems seemed to instantly drain as his shoulders visibly stooped, and he lumbered towards the berth, sitting at the end of it.

  
“Watching you lose your sanity was horrifying enough, Optimus. If there existed a universe where you lost your Primus-forsaken goodness, it would be nothing more than _wrong_.”

  
Emotions collided into a strange mix in those words, as if anger felt the same as regret or agony. The Prime recycled his optics as they tumbled through the bond, pushing himself up into a sitting position on his knees. He crept next to the other, placing his servo on the inside of the other’s shoulder, past the curled spikes.

  
“… My processor has been repaired. My sanity is not completely lost, neither are my beliefs.”

  
The silver mech’s helm tilted towards his shoulder as the Prime leaned against it, blue optics becoming distant as he stared at the other’s peds on the ground.

  
“I still believe every sentient being deserves freedom, and I still believe everyone has the capacity for change… But one’s personal beliefs fall to the wayside when you are laid bare for others to see on a lab table.”

  
Silence fell between them as the weight of his statement pulled them down to reality. It churned in Megatron’s spark and danced in his processor circuits. The ex-warlord found he couldn’t look away from his bonded partner as he realized that this was the most he’d spoken of his own experiences with the captors yet.

  
_Longing._

  
So many questions still circled them. Neither of them could stand to be apart, yet too many experiences stood between them.

  
_Yearning._

  
Optimus felt claw tips placed under his jaw, and he let them lift him. Megatron shifted on the berth to face the Prime better, and his optics drifted down only once before he leaned forward, locking them both in a kiss.

  
_Pining._

  
Red armor flashed as the Prime slid his arms around his bonded’s neck, attempting to pull him ever closer. A whine worked its way out of his throat and hung between them. A guttural growl met him in response, vibrating into his intake when sharp denta nipped at his glossa. His spark pulsed in his chest, and it hummed as if it could sing.

  
**_They hold no control over you. They can’t hurt you anymore._**

  
Distant thunder resounded through the bond, and the warm rain of his bonded’s love washed over him. Optimus shuttered his optics, feeling his frame physically shiver in ecstasy of a feeling that wasn’t pain.

  
_**Your beliefs were those that started our revolution… If they matter to no one else, they will matter to me.**_

  
A vision danced behind closed cerulean blue optics of a desolation landscape, littered by the faces of the dead. He gasped against his bonded, digits curling into grey armor as coolant tears gathered in his optics.

  
_**… We are the last.**_

  
Megatron growled louder. One of his arm struts swept around the Prime’s frame to pull his abdominal plates flush against his own. The other cupped his cheek plate, feeling the tears run over his claws.

  
_**We are the last.**_

  
Optimus sobbed into the silver mech’s intake, but they dared not break away. They fell back against the berth, tangled together in a mess of long, shaking limbs. He could’ve sworn when their plates brushed against one another, that some of the coolant leaked from red optics too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm pretty sure Megatron's still angry about last chapter. And I probably just made it worse...
> 
> Me: *sitting with Optimus sipping leisurely at glasses of tea and energon*  
> Optimus: I was not aware energon could be shaped to resemble human foods.  
> Me: I found the idea quite fascinating. The energon can't be heated up because it would explode.  
> Optimus: Of course.  
> Me: But it IS a liquid. I'm sure with the right manipulation, it could be jellied, frozen, or shaped a number of ways to create creative new dishes-  
> Megatron: *bursts through the door*  
> Megatron: EBONYAURA!  
> Me: *drops cup of tea*  
> Megatron: WHAT'S THIS I HEAR OF A SINISTER OPTIMUS PRIME???  
> Me: O_O  
> Megatron: YOU DARE TO SUGGEST MY SWEETSPARK IS ANYTHING BUT INNOCENT AND PURE?!?!  
> Optimus:   
> Me: ... You're not gonna let this go are you?  
> Me: *spontaneously explodes*  
> Optimus:


	28. The First Session

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kept you guys waiting long enough. So instead of one note of humor, I will give two to try to redeem myself.
> 
> *Megatron and Optimus are currently playing chess. Optimus is currently kicking his bonded's aft at it, Megatron has no idea*  
> Me: *stumbles through the door*  
> Optimus: *slowly looks up from the board game*  
> Megatron: *slowly looks up from the board game*  
> Me:  
> Megatron: ... Well where the frag have you been?  
> Me: ........... At work.  
> Optimus:  
> Megatron:  
> Me: *collapses from exhaustion on the floor*  
> Megatron:  
> Optimus: *sighs and moves one of his pieces on the board*  
> Optimus: Checkmate.

The lock to the first door of their cell clicked and clattered as it was opened.

  
Two pairs of optics turned towards the sound nervously. They watched through the window as the first door opened, and in stepped Rung. Ironhide followed, stepping up to the second door to unlatch that lock next. When it did, the red mech held the door open, allowing the psychologist to walk through. The doors shut behind him, and Ironhide disappeared on the other side. Rung stood before the door, smiling kindly at the couple.

  
“Good morning to you both.”

  
He greeted quietly. The softness of it relaxed the couple, and Tron slid himself forward to the edge of the berth.

  
“Rung.”

  
The silver mech greeted in return, nodding his helm to the psychologist. Rung’s smile widened at it, and he politely folded his servos in front of him.

  
“If it was alright with you, I was hoping to speak to both of you this cycle a bit more in-depth about your mental states of being. I did promise, after all, that I would do everything I could to help. It will not include your imprisonment, unless either of you feel it is absolutely necessary to discuss.”

  
Tron looked back towards Orion, and a moment of silence fell over the room as they traded expression and a conversation through their bond. Rung waited patiently, watching their subtle movements, until finally Orion pushed himself to the end of the berth and Tron turned back to the psychologist.

  
“We consent.”

  
He said gruffly. Rung’s field pulsed, and he stepped over to the desk, halting in front of the chair before taking hold of it.

  
“May I?”

  
Tron gestured to it indifferently, and he picked it up before setting it a few paces in front of the couple. He situated himself comfortably, crossing one leg strut over the other as he placed his servos in his lap and looked up at his newest patients.

  
“Before we begin, I would like both of you to know that this can be as formal or informal as you feel comfortable for it to be. And if at any point we cannot continue, as you know, you can request I leave, and we can try this discussion again another cycle. Alright?”

  
Orion’s optics drifted to the floor as his field pulled in timidly. He folded his arm struts around himself and shifted close enough to Tron to lean against him. The silver mech, in turn, lifted his arm back to allow, and then wrapped around him to rest loosely against his thigh. Something warm was shared between their fields in a flash, and they simultaneously nodded to the psychologist.

  
Rung observed, feeling the familiar fear from the red and blue mech, and smiled again at the nods. He leaned back against the chair, adopting a more casual pose.

  
“Well firstly, how are you today? I see you’ve taken advantage of the commodities of the room.”

  
All of their gazes shifted from the datapad charging on the desk to the washcloth draped over the side of the sink to the crumpled sheets and blankets of the berth yet to be made for the day. Orion’s optics recycled embarrassedly, and he absently tried to smooth the sheets he was sitting on. Next to him, the side of Tron’s lip plates curled up into a grin before he turned back to the psychologist.

  
“We have… We are adjusting to our new situation.”

  
Orion’s optics suddenly lifted, and his servo paused as he piped up.

  
“We like the new living space.”

  
Rung’s optics recycled, but his field pulsed in cheerful surprise.

  
“Oh? I’m pleased to hear that. I’m sure the berth is quite a bit more comfortable than the slab from the previous cell.”

  
He joked good-naturedly. Tron’s posture relaxed as he sighed and shook his helm.

  
“ _Worlds_ more comfortable. I’d forgotten such a recharge surface existed.”

  
Rung chuckled lightly. Mecha who spoke like Tron he knew usually had a good sense of humor when relaxed. He felt joyous that they’d finally begun to reach this point.

  
“Yes, from what I’ve heard, these kinds of berths were engineered to cushion the frame’s pressure points and assist with recharge cycles. Has it helped yours?”

  
Tron’s halfway easy-going expression immediately fell. Nervous anxiety stemmed from Orion’s field and bounced between them as the couple once again traded expressions. Rung blinked as he watched the interaction, comparing it with the cycle in the hospital when he’d looked at Orion’s monitor and found that his processor activity indicated he hadn’t even recharged the night after he woke up. After about half a klik, it was Tron that spoke up.

  
“Our recharge cycles are regularly interrupted by n—bad dreams.”

  
Orion flinched at the slip up and Rung’s optical brows furrowed. Though a bit curious at the choice of wording, he took a mental note of it. The silver mech continued.

  
“We take turns recharging each night cycle. One of us will regularly stay awake every other cycle to aid the other’s attempt of rest.”

  
The psychologist nodded and took note of it in the file in his processor created specifically for Orion and Tron. _While inefficient for a mech’s health, it’s… not the worst method to use._ He tilted his helm inquisitively at the pair.

  
“Is this aid given through the bond you share?”

  
The silver mech nodded in return.

  
“Usually by sharing calm or pleasant emotions.”

  
Crimson optics glanced towards the red and blue mech in his grasp. Orion looked back up at him and Rung knew Tron was fending off a heavy sigh.

  
“Orion’s dreams are... especially severe. It frightens him to recharge. To aid him, I must be able to shut out the rest of our surroundings to focus my attention on our bond. I can only do it when I am completely calm.”

  
The psychologist’s helm tilted the other way as he took another mental note and pondered the statement. Round, owlish blue optics took heed of the uneasy mood of his patients as he replied.

  
“To be able to focus so attentively on your partner that your awareness of reality fades… That is quite a fierce bond to behold. One of the most powerful I’ve ever heard of. You and Orion have been bonded a long time then?”

  
He inquired politely. This time, Tron and Orion blinked, both red and blue pairs of optics wandering as they thought about their answer.

  
“I suppose so… We estimate about four eons? Five?”

  
The silver mech looked to his bonded for help, who slowly nodded in agreement.

  
“Just about five to this current cycle.”

  
Rung’s optics brightened, and he smiled again at their answer.

  
“I believe you would put the rest of the bonded mecha in this city to shame, then. Many of them have only been bonded about fifty to sixty vorns. Did you know each other long before bonding?”

  
It was small talk that deviated from the topic at servo, Rung knew, but he felt their unease dissipating. The way they relaxed against each other told him that this was a safe topic that could lead to many interesting facts to note. He was also genuinely curious, as a mech who enjoyed watching couples of the city enjoy their lives with each other.

  
Rung’s satisfaction grew when it was Orion who looked the psychologist in the optic and answered him this time.

  
“Yes, we knew each other a very long time before bonding. We were newly mature in our life cycles when we met.”

  
Orion’s helm pressed against the silver mech’s shoulder as his gaze retreated to find his partner. Tron gazed back at him, and the psychologist watched as a small smile grew on each of their lip plates. Rung could almost feel the pleasant past memories they must have been sharing in that moment. If one looked past their age and everything they’d suffered, they would surely be mistaken for newly bonds. The thought aided Rung in visualizing the reason they’d endured such long and brutal torture.

  
“That is a long time. You were waiting for the right time to bond then, I assume?”

  
Tron was the first to react, letting go of the sigh he’d been withholding as he broke optical contact with his bonded to look at Rung.

  
“That was our original intent… But, the war began, and we took to different sides. It wasn’t until a long time later that I’d realized what a fool I’d been for not remaining with Orion, and I can only be thankful that he accepted me again.”

  
The psychologist nodded empathetically. Quite a few of the couples in the city were both Autobot and Decepticon in faction, and there were even some that had rejoined together after splitting with the war. Starscream and Skyfire were one such example. He was no relationship counselor, but he did assist the couple, as well as many others with more open honesty and communication with each other. Almost all of them had successfully bonded or stayed together after that.

  
“Well, from my personal perspective, it seems that your bond would’ve come to fruition one way or another. I’ve seen my fair share, and the only spark bond I know of that could rival yours would be a creator’s bond to their sparkling.”

  
Tron’s arm strut curled further around his bonded, and Rung didn’t miss the glint of pride that passed through his field as well as his optics. Orion, on the other servo, ducked his helm shyly against him. If it were possible, he might’ve blushed like a human. The reaction caused the psychologist to raise a brow with a knowing grin. He knew that look from a bot fairly well.

  
“Oh? Have you thought about sparklings before?”

  
There was no psychological examination in this question, just curiosity. But it seemed to catch the silver mech off guard anyway. His crimson optics widened, and his helm whipped down to his bonded who met him with a meek, but even gaze. Something quiet passed between them, and after a moment a wider smile pulled at the silver mech’s faceplates. He rumbled at Orion.

  
“Well, clearly _someone_ has. And hasn’t bothered to mention it for the past five eons.”

  
Rung laughed openly, watching as the red and blue mech whirred quietly. The bonded couple clicked back and forth, all traces of fear or residual pain gone from the present moment. Their fields were woven like the strings of a blanket, tied into each other so smoothly their pulses were in tune. Without worries to hinder them, they were simply two halves of one whole. Two beings that belonged. The psychologist’s laughter subsided as he made another mental note, and let the session continue with a simple conversation. It seemed they needed that more than anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Megatron: *sputters*  
> Optimus: What?  
> Megatron: I THOUGHT WE ALREADY DISCUSSED THIS! NO SPARKLINGS!  
> Optimus: Oh... alright then. I suppose that means you won't be getting any frags anytime soon.  
> Megatron: O.O  
> Optimus: *winks*  
> Megatron: O.O  
> Optimus: *turns away with an exaggerated sway of his hips*  
> Megatron: O.O  
> Optimus: *struts off, not so casually giving his bonded a cheeky glance over his shoulder*  
> Megatron: Now wait a damn minute-
> 
> Me: ... What happened to being innocent and pure Oppy


	29. SIDS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My anxiety wrote this chapter not me.

“N-No… No… No please…”

  
_Anguish. Misery._

  
Megatron quickly roused from the depths his frame had succumbed to, clumsily trying to shake himself back into awareness. But Primus, he was so _tired_. It was so _hard_ to not slip away again.

  
“N-No! Please-!!”

  
_Optimus. His bonded._

  
His servo slid to the other side of the berth, seeking out the other frame that was most likely squirming and would start thrashing very soon. Confusion bled into his field, he hadn’t even felt it. Usually he roused at the smallest movement. Had he really been that absorbed into their bond to have fallen so deeply into darkness? Unless…

  
Confusion exploded into bewilderment and panic when the other frame his servo sought was absent, leaving the berth cold and empty. Gone. _Gone_.

  
_No no no; I fell into recharge!!_

  
The ex-warlord jerked upright, crimson optics wildly alert as they scanned the room. His limb struts started to tremor as he found the space by the sink empty, the locked door standing in solitude, and the desk and chair left bare.

  
“ _N-NO!_ PRIMUS PLEASE!”

  
A horrible, familiar wail came from his right, and he jerked towards it. On his knees beside the berth, Optimus sat rocking back and forth, his shoulders hunched and shaking. His arms were looped in front of him, as if cradling something only he could see in that moment. His hydraulics whined and his field, which should lay dormant during recharge, was erratic and fitful, as if it were fists trying to punch out from inside immovable walls. The Prime’s face was contorted, and his optics, though wide open, were dim, unfocused, and unseeing. This wasn’t just recharge, but it wasn’t an online state.

  
He was acting out his own nightmares.

  
_Horror._

  
Megatron’s spark seized and for a long klik he couldn’t move. He was trapped in his own shocked body and forced to watch the being he loved most to suffer in a way he hadn’t seen before. What kind of a nightmare was it? What visions and imaginings would reduce him to such shattered fragility?

  
The moment ended, and he tore himself out of the stupor to crawl out of the berth and approach his Prime. When he reached out through their bond, it felt strange. The other side was so quiet, yet he could _feel_ the utter turmoil that surrounded it. Spun around it like it was the eye of a hurricane. He braced himself against it and reached out to grasp the other’s spark tightly.

  
**_Where are you, my Prime? I’m here. You’re dreaming. You need to wake up._**

  
He received no response. Megatron fell to his knees in front of him, slowly reaching out to the other’s shivering servos. Suddenly, as if Optimus had unconsciously sensed another presence near him, his optics flashed bright and he lurched away.

  
“DON’T TOUCH US! LEAVE US ALONE!”

  
_Us?_

  
The silver mech flinched backwards, optics wide and his spark tendrils almost coiled away at the unconscious retaliation. Optimus’s legs scraped against the ground as he tried to crawl away, fear now brimming the edges of his field. He looked on the brink of physically crying, and Megatron forced himself to try again.

  
**_Optimus it’s me! Megatron! Your bonded! I’m here, and I’m real! You need to wake up!_**

  
Fists of the Prime’s erratic field flared against their immovable wall, and the ex-warlord grit his denta as it flooded over his. He pushed back with his own desperation.

  
**_Please wake up!!_**

  
“NOO!”

  
Coolant tears streamed down from blue optics, and the red and blue frame curled in on itself. Curled around the arm struts that were still looped in front of him. Servos wound upwards, as if holding onto something small and delicate— _Primus below-!!_

  
_HORROR._

  
**_WAKE UP!!_**

  
He screamed into their bond, desperately clawing at the other’s spark.

  
Optimus’s frame finally jolted. The silence broke, and his optics darkened before coming online again with a sure focus. He gasped, falling forwards on weak arms that had dropped from place and were giving under the strain. Megatron immediately came forward, catching him against his chest.

  
“I’ve got you.”

  
He spoke softly, wrapping his arms protectively around the other’s back strut. Optimus gasped as he recycled his optics multiple times. Where was he? Why wasn’t he restrained? Why was it so dark? What was Megatron doing here? _Was this another dream?_ His spark rippled in fear and his ventilations came faster.

  
“No, no shh. It’s alright, you’re safe. It’s over.”

  
Crimson optics met cerulean blue, and the body that belonged to them offered the backside of silver claws. Quick, heavy vents paused as their owner recognized it in sudden clarity. The gesture was repeated, and with their ritual the Prime ex-vented a heavy sob.

  
“R-Real.”

  
Gentle scraping of metal against metal marked the sound of silver claws stroking over their bonded’s frame. They pressed down to pull the other in closer when the red and blue mech shuddered.

  
“I’m real… You’re not dreaming anymore.”

  
Optimus wanted to sigh in desperately needed relief. Instead he keened, the memory file of the dream coming back to haunt him as he pushed into his bonded’s embrace, trying hard not to look at his servos. For if he did, he knew what he might see in them again.

  
To think that such a pleasant conversation with Rung just a few cycles before had brought it to fruition.

  
“Shhh. Just vent. I’m right here.”

  
_Sadness._

  
He wanted to stop crying. To stop shaking. He wished to any deity who may exist that this excruciating pain would go away. He begged these terrible memories to burn in the Pits with every other evil being that had ever laid optics on him…

  
But they wouldn’t, would they?

  
Tonight, there would be no reprieve from the darkness.

  
The Prime looked up, finding those unwavering, empathetic and run-down crimson optics amidst the otherwise impenetrable dark. Tonight, there would be no reprieve. Megatron rumbled and swayed both of their frames side to side, sitting in the eye of the storm with his bonded for as long as it took. Recharge would not find either of them again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Optimus: *optics blown wide and jaw dropped in horror*  
> Megatron: .... Optimus?  
> Optimus:   
> Megatron: .... Sweetspark?   
> Optimus:   
> Megatron: *turns to me*  
> Megatron: Now look what you've done! You broke him!  
> Optimus: *covers his faceplates, starts sobbing*
> 
> Me: ... Shit I did.


	30. Coping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that real therapists probably use different methods than this, but hey, if you wind up using it and it works for you, good on ya mate. And no one method usually works all the time either (I've found this out the hard way).

There was a datapad on the psychologist’s lap, primarily used for note-taking. The screen glowed blue with a blinking white cursor sitting in the middle and waiting to continue. For now it sat forgotten, the screen dimming as its owner paid no more mind to it. Rung’s attention was focused on his patients, watching every movement in their frames, observing their faceplates, and concentrating on the emotions in their fields.

  
“How many mecha do you feel comfortable around at one time, Orion?”

  
The red and blue mech couldn’t meet his optics. He stared at the ground with wandering optics, legs crossed underneath him on the berth and servos grasping his leg struts. His field was nervous and uncomfortable. Next to him, the silver mech sat watching him adamantly, his own servos twitching in their grip on his thighs.

  
This cycle’s session, the fourth session since the first, was primarily focused on Orion’s social anxiety. But for the silver mech, Rung had put forth one rule: to not touch his bonded unless absolutely necessary. It made them both distressed, but for the sake of Rung trying to aid them, they consented.

  
“Th-Three or less, I think… No more.”

  
He admitted shakily, trying to navigate through his own fear to distinguish it. It was confusing and overwhelming. Rung pressed on after a few nanoseconds.

  
“Why is that? Why no more than three?”

  
Megatron’s servo twitched again, and his field flared angrily at the provocative questions aimed at his troubled bonded. But it was soon reigned back in, and he exhaled deeply to remain in control of his own state of being. Rung’s optics lingered on him for another moment to be sure before they returned to the red and blue mech.

  
“More than three… groups…”

  
The red and blue mech suddenly trailed off when his meandering path through the fear came to an end at a flashback of the labs. His frame tensed rigidly.

  
“Groups… They gathered in groups around me… They w-wanted to know… w-wanted to know…”

  
Black eyes stared at him blankly. Pale hands pried at his plating. A fluid-filled syringe hovered over him.

  
_Too much. Too much. Make it stop!_

  
His spark pounded, and his tank dropped into a bottomless pit. His vents came harder and faster as the flashback replayed.

  
_**Optimus...**_

  
Megatron’s servos immediately shot out to aid him, but the psychologist waved his own servo to stop him.

  
“Wait, Tron. Wait.”

  
The silver mech’s lip curled up in a sneer at Rung, clearly angry at being denied physical contact. His servos fell away but they clenched into fists. Over the bond he sent any emotion of calm to his bonded he could give. Rung leaned forward in his seat, focusing back on his bonded.

  
“Orion, listen to me. These feelings are fluid, these flashes are momentary. _You_ have control over them. _You_ can make them pass.”

  
His voice was gentle but steady. Orion’s shoulders shook harder as he pressed his servos to his faceplates and keened into them.

  
“I-I don’t… I can’t… _T-Tron!”_

  
The words were muffled by his servos. Megatron’s spark tried to seize and deep concern flashed through Rung’s owlish optics before it disappeared, and he became stable.

  
“We live on an island, Orion. The Pacific Ocean surrounds us… Picture the ocean. Picture a storm that hovers over it. Picture its waves roiling from the wind and crashing back into the sea.”

  
Megatron’s optics flicked from the psychologist to his bonded in rapid succession, feeling the panic in his field that continued to wreak havoc on him until after a klik, he spoke into his servos.

  
“… T-The sea is chaotic.”

  
Rung’s optics brightened minutely.

  
“It is your mind and spark, Orion. What you feel is the storm…”

  
He trailed off, his round blue optics flicking to Tron. Crimson optics full of worry recycled as he gave him a reassuring nod. Then, he reached out his servo to the red and blue mech, turning it palm-up.

  
“I am offering you my servo, Orion. It is your anchor. Take it, and grab hold as tightly as you need.”

  
Slowly, cautiously, he let a black servo drop from his faceplates to reach out, digits trembling. Rung caught his appendage, and Orion squeezed it hard. His bonded nearly snarled, every instinct in his frame churning possessively and furiously. _How DARE he touch him!!_ The psychologist did not flinch; he’d felt worse grips.

  
“Now picture yourself facing the ocean and the storm. The ocean is your mind and spark; the storm is your fear. _You_ control the ocean. _You_ can make the storm pass.”

  
Orion clutched the psychologist’s servo even tighter, his knuckles shaking with its grip.

  
“Now calm the ocean, Orion. Speak to the roiling water you face; let it know that _you_ are in control. Picture the waves subsiding. Picture the storm settling. Picture the ocean quieting. _Speak_ it into existence, Orion. You are calm; you are in control. You are calm; you are in control.”

  
“I-I am calm… I am in control… I am calm… I am in control…”

  
_Panic. Fear… Nervousness…_

  
With each time he reiterated the phrases, his voice, although quiet, became steadier. The flashbacks, which had come onto him with such demanding strength, were gradually fading from view. Megatron’s optics widened as the tremors in his bonded’s frame began to ease, and he ceased trying to rock back and forth.

  
“I _am_ calm… _I_ am in control…”

  
_Conviction. Determination… Calm._

  
The other black servo fell from his faceplates, revealing tired, but collected blue optics. Orion inhaled deeply, and then let a long exhale escape from his vents, releasing the last of his tension. He turned to Rung, and with a nod, the psychologist let go of his servo.

  
“How are you feeling now, Orion?”

  
Letting himself look at the psychologist for the first time since he’d arrived, the red and blue mech responded with a single nod.

  
“Better, thank you.”

  
_By Primus…_

  
When was the last time Megatron had heard Optimus Prime’s voice be so calm, so stabilized… so _composed?_ They feared his panic attacks as much as they feared what caused them. They lasted for so long, seemingly never ending, and sometimes they couldn’t even be controlled. But this… What Optimus usually suffered for at least ten to fifteen kliks, maybe even _longer_ had been diminished in less than four!

  
Coolant welled in his optics. His spark tendrils reached out to his partner, wanting so badly to hold onto him if not in one way then another, to show the utter _joy_ in such a revelation.

  
Feeling the emotions in the other spark residing beside his own, the Prime turned towards his bonded. A small smile soon graced his features, and he sent affection over the bond.

  
“… I think enough progress has been made this cycle. You did very well, Orion.”

  
The familiar gentle tone of the psychologist drew their attention outwards, and they watched as he stood up, picking up the datapad in his lap and turning it off.

  
“Is there anything else either of you would like to speak about?”

  
Megatron shook his helm, and his bonded mirrored the gesture before shifting to draw his knees up to his chest. He folded his arm struts on top of them and resting his helm against his arms.

  
“No thank you, Rung… But we appreciate the help you’ve given us already.”

  
Lip plates turning up into a smile, Rung nodded in reply to show his understanding. He picked up the chair, placing it back where he found it at the desk. Rung’s carefully measured steps paused before walking out the door, and he turned back to them with a grin.

  
“To have taken back control after everything you’ve been through, Orion, you are a brave bot indeed. You should be proud of what you have achieved this session.”

  
The red and blue mech smiled against his arm, cerulean blue optics shining briefly at the other bot. They shared a couple more nanoseconds of a glance before Rung took his leave, letting the door shut and lock behind him. When Optimus and Megatron were left in solitude once again, they said nothing at first. The ex-warlord’s processor was spinning on an axis, trying to comprehend that just happened.

  
He stared at the door in silence until Optimus nudged him over the bond, prompting him to turn back towards the other.

  
**_You were right._**

  
The Prime spoke over the bond voicelessly. Exhaustion from fighting his panic attack for the first time bled into his field and echoed in his optics. But his optics glimmered, his frame shined in the setting sun’s light coming through the window, and he was calm. In Megatron’s opinion, he was nothing short of stunning.

  
**_There is hope._**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now I present to you: the mini-episodes I've gained from inspiration on Wattpad for the past week
> 
> Me: What's your biggest fear?  
> Megatron: Losing Optimus  
> Me *pulls an electric prod out of UPS box*  
> Me: Guess again fragger.  
> Megatron: O_O
> 
> Megatron: *Coughs violently*  
> Optimus: Please don't die.  
> Megatron: dOnT tElL mE wHaT tO dO!!
> 
> Megatron: Where is my fragging cannon?   
> Optimus: Megatron, there are sparklings around!  
> Megatron:   
> Optimus: Could you perhaps say it nicely?   
> Megatron:   
> Megatron: May I ascertain the whereabouts of my FRAGGING CANNON??  
> Optimus: *facepalms*


	31. Oppression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Hey... Psst, you there, in the corner. I know you kinda want to make a comment, but kinda don't want to at the same time because you might embarrass the scrap out of yourself. I want you to know that here, there will be no shame nor embarrassment. You may comment WHATEVER THE FRAG YOU WANT BECAUSE I LOVE IT WHEN YOU GUYS COMMENT! Got a question, comment!! Got a funny end note you wanna suggest, comment!! Got an idea for the story, comment!! Got Megatron's cannon that he lost last chapter in the endnotes... 
> 
> Megatron: Wait, what?! Somebody found it?!
> 
> Me: ... Actually, don't comment on that.

_PANIC_.

  
The datapad flew through the air, smashing against the wall with a sickening crack and falling to the floor with a shatter. Pieces of it scattered on the ground, glass spinning on their sharp and broken edges as they glinted in the sunlight.

  
Optimus jerked to attention at the sudden noise and the cold, familiar emotion storming through their bond.

  
“Megatron?!”

  
He half shouted, pulling himself up from where he’d been laying back against the berth pillows, pushing aside the second datapad in his servo. It had been given to him as a gift from the other Prime, not long after their fifth official session with Rung when he learned that Orion once loved to read. Rung had been asked to carry on the message that all of the Prime’s personal favorites were on it, along with some Earth classics, and even a plethora of novels written by Cybertronians. He physically cried when he received it, beginning to trust that his reflection was just like him after all. The joy he’d felt was indescribable, recognizing the moment as another gain of a piece of himself that had been lost to war, torture, and pain.

  
At this moment, the page of _Pride and Prejudice_ he’d been reading darkened to a black screen, forgotten and cast aside.

  
Spark pounding frantically in its casing, his optics were immediately drawn towards the left corner of the room. When they met the frame of his bonded, his spark halted.

  
Megatron stared straight ahead sightlessly, optics blown wide and brimmed with shock and terror. His limb struts were rigidly frozen in place, stuck in a defensive position as he unconsciously shied away from where the datapad had landed. The silver mech’s chest plates shuddered as his vents malfunctioned, rising into hyper ventilations, and his claws tremored. His side of their bond was stuck in a feedback loop of fear, something Optimus knew too well to question.

  
_PANIC_.

  
Something had triggered him.

  
_PANIC_.

  
_**Megatron…**_

  
The Prime began softly, slowly edging himself off the berth to stand. His spark, though heavy with the grief of seeing the silver mech like this, weaved through the fear whirling around his bonded’s spark, pawing at him to try and elicit a response. Putting himself in what would’ve been his bonded’s frontal sight range, he raised his servos peacefully in front of himself.

  
**_Megatron, my love…_**

  
Something crumbled under his ped as he stepped forward, and Optimus looked down. Scans presented the broken glass of the datapad on the floor, sitting around the glitching datapad that had slid from where it fell to a pace or two from where he was standing.

  
Recycling his optics at the glitching image, his optics squinted a bit as he focused in on it. It was a visual of a strange object, one that only felt vaguely familiar because he remembered seeing it a long time ago. In the eons before they were captured. The object was long and straight with a rounded end that resembled a handle. The other end was split into two sharp knife-like edges. Though the image fritzed with static, he could see the object was solidly black, and that between the two sharp edges, a single bolt of electric gleamed jaggedly. A caption of an article title blinked beneath it.

  
_“Reinventing the Electric Prod better handle Livestock”_

  
Optimus inhaled as something in between pain and abhorrence shot through him. _Electric Prod. Livestock._ The object presented grated at his being just as much as each word did. How it was that Megatron found this article, he didn’t know. Perhaps it was because he’d been bored and chose to browse the depths of the human internet, looking for something incredulous to sneer at. Or perhaps his curiosity had gotten the best of him, and he’d followed the link before he knew better what it would lead him to. Whatever it was, Optimus didn’t know. Nor did he care.

  
_No. He did care,_ he realized as memories of a miner turned gladiator surfaced. Blurry flashbacks of whip-scarred backplates and terrible howls of agony poked at his processor… _He cared too much._

  
**_Oh Megatron…_**

  
The Prime looked up from the glitching datapad, taking another careful step towards his bonded. Glass crunched under his peds. The ex-warlord reacted to that first, flinching violently at the sound as his entire frame hurled itself backwards, slamming into the wall with a clang. A wailing roar was torn from his intake as he sunk into the corner, turning into a pained and fearful hiss. Optimus flinched at each sound, halting in place for a long klik. He waited patiently, ever so patiently until the hiss dissipated into the heavy pants of his panic attack.

  
Inch by inch, Optimus slowly lowered himself to his knees, glancing down more than once to be sure that no more glass shards would be in the way. When his knee joints hit the ground, he bent forward on his servos, and began to crawl forward.

  
_**… I know you can hear me, my love.**_

  
Megatron hissed again, his unseeing optics staring over him as if another being stood over them both. Looming. Nearing. _Commanding._

  
**_I know how real it feels… I know at this point the end seems impossible._**

  
One arm forward. One knee forward. The Prime was ever patient, crawling at what seemed like a painstakingly leisured pace to his bonded. He watched as silver chest plates faltered and the other’s flailing field was flickering and drooping in exhaustion.

  
_**But I’m here.**_

  
His spark nuzzled at the other over their bond. He stopped about three paces in front of his bonded.

  
_**I’m right here, Megatronus, and this will end.**_

  
The name slipped from his subconscious. It roused the spark he tried to comfort, and it flicked nervous tendrils in his direction. He smiled gently.

  
_Love_.

  
**_Come back to me, Megatronus._**

  
Unfocused, crimson optics suddenly dimmed. They offlined for a moment as their owner bent his helm, hissing as he shook it, and then lifted it again. Megatron’s sight came back, shifting down to the only other real occupant of the room. Optimus’s cerulean blue optics flashed brighter and he sat back on his shin struts.

  
**_It’s alright, it’s just me._**

  
The ex-warlord’s entire frame shivered. But the tendrils of his spark weaved with that of his bonded, holding on tightly. His vents worked on overdrive to cool his heated internals.

  
**_… Orion._**

  
If he’d spoken it with a voice, it would’ve trembled on his intake, come out as a question so fearful that no one would’ve believed the mighty Megatron had said it. But no voice accompanied the name, and Optimus would never tell. Not when no one would ever know Megatronus better than himself.

  
_**I’m here.**_

  
Optimus leaned into his servos and crawled forward. He closed the few steps remaining between them before shifting to sit on his left haunch, his legs arching against the ground. Megatron’s red optics recycled once more. The sight reminded him of Orion Pax, and if caused his terribly heavy spark to lighten in the slightest.

  
_Uneasiness. Exhaustion._

  
Megatron shifted where he sat crumbled uncomfortably against the wall, letting his helm fall forward against his knees.

  
**_… I don’t understand how you do it._**

  
It was a cryptic whisper over their bond. Any other mech would’ve questioned it. Optimus understood immediately. His faceplates echoed comprehension and compassion as he reached out, grasping the arm strut where there once had been a cannon with his welded servo.

  
_**It takes time and patience. Rung still needs to work with you.**_

  
Megatron’s frame tremored as he fought to control his ventilations. He sneered and growled into his knees, mentally battling the flashback they both knew was still trying to take over. The Prime moved closer, brushing against his bonded’s peds. Red optics flickered upward when the silver mech felt his bonded lean against his legs, his faceplates nuzzling his knee.

  
“Shhhh.”

  
The Prime crooned, wrapping his presently steady field around Megatron. The set of silver claws attached to the arm in the grip of his beloved reached out, curling around the red arm strut. Quietly seeking comfort that Optimus would always be willing to give.

  
_Strength is never one-sided, is it?_

  
As the kliks passed and Megatron’s ventilations winded down, Optimus shifted his gaze in the direction of the broken datapad on the floor. He would need to clean it up before his bonded rose. Before another glimpse of the weapon and its words put the broken mech back in the catacombs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, I present to you an end note specially crafted by a fellow AOUR user, Lady_Frost:
> 
> tron *from the other room*: honeeey?   
> orion: yeeees?  
> tron: wheres my fusion cannon??  
> orion: what?  
> tron: WHERES. MY. FUSION. CANNON???  
> orion: why do you need to know?!  
> tron: the publics in danger!  
> orion: my evening in danger!  
> tron: you tell me where that cannon is PRIME!! we are talking about the greater good!  
> orion: excuse me?! i. am. your. mate! i am the greatest GOOD you are ever gonna get!! >:(
> 
> And now I present to you, my end note :)
> 
> Megatron: Wait, why am I having a panic attack now?  
> Me: ... Because you were enslaved through torture for five eons.   
> Megatron: ... With a cow prod?  
> Me:   
> Me: A very advanced, and much more painful cow prod.  
> Megatron: *snorts*  
> Megatron: I am the Lord of the Decepticons! I cannot be tamed by a mere cow prod!  
> Me: *sighs*   
> Me: *opens the UPS box*  
> Optimus: EBONY WAIT-  
> Me: *waves the prod in front of Megatron's face*  
> Megatron: O_O  
> Megatron: *high-pitched screaming*


	32. Separation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got a comment last chapter stating that this particular reader loved how the end notes help the darker chapters end in a happier light. And I realized, you know what, that's exactly what they do. All of these other MegOp stories that I've been reading recently are so full of agony, anger, and misery. Oh I know mine is too, but I can't help that little note of humor in the end. You don't deserve to be in emotional pain after reading a chapter (although if you enjoy that, good on ya mate, can I borrow your nerves of steel sometime?). That's not why I posted this. You deserve something that'll let your mind drift from the problems of the day. Something that'll make you smile. 
> 
> Life is shit. But I'm not here to make it worse. I'm here to share my love of MegOp with fellow AOUR users, and to hopefully make the day just a little bit better.

“W-Wait! _Wait!!”_

  
Tron clung to Orion, plating raised in aggressive defense. Orion clung back, whimpering into his chest plates, digits dug into seams that refused to let go. Neither of them moved from the corner. Dread and alarm was so heavy between them it caused Rung to step back and give them space.

  
_SEPARATION._

  
It was their tenth session. They’d thought they were gaining control of their symptoms. They’d thought they were getting better.

  
_SEPARATION._

  
Panic attacks they could endure. Flashbacks were ever-present, but a little easier to ride through when they had each other to hold onto. Avoiding triggers was challenging, but not impossible. Optimus was much more precautious about it than Megatron ever would be. He owed him for it.

  
_SEPARATION._

  
This wasn’t supposed to happen. They’d endured the pits already; the medics had fixed the Prime’s processor. It was done, it was over with. They were safe now; they had to be… _Why was this happening?_

  
“Tron, Orion, take deep vents. Ground yourselves. Take control of the ocean.”

  
_The ocean… The ocean…_

  
Rung’s voice echoed in their helms. Tron pictured the ocean, swept up by the storm that blackened its skies. He willed himself to calm it, listening to Orion’s voice as he spoke it into the present.

  
“Calm… Control… Calm… Control…”

  
“You are _not_ being taken away from each other anymore. Don’t let that belief control you.”

  
A couple kliks passed before Orion’s digits relaxed, laying limply against silver backplates. About thirty nanoseconds later, Tron’s flared armor was able to recede. The fear was gone, but it was libel to return at any moment. It put them on edge as pairs of red and blue optics met the psychologist standing on the other side of the room. At their gaze, he grinned, stepping forward once again.

  
“I know this is a trial which will be vigorous for the both of you, no matter how much you improve.”

  
He’d warned them this was coming. He’d explained thoroughly that this was one of the many actions they would have to take to live among other bots. They listened, they understood, they eventually consented.

  
But consent didn’t mean anything when it still scared the ever-living pits out of you.

  
“This does not have to be rushed. We can try again next cycle if you wish… I only press it now because I know how much you desire to be independent of the institution.”

  
Tron and Orion watched their psychologist for another long klik before turning to each other.

  
_… Yearning._

  
Neither of them knew which end of the bond it came from first, but it was shared before either of them could stop it. It could not be denied. Megatron was the most vocal about it, but even Optimus stared out the barred window every cycle for too long to be coincidence. The chance at freedom from this cage ate at them with each passing day they learned to manage. They wondered about a life they could call their own. One without war or the catacombs, one that Orion Pax and Megatronus had once spoken of in the depths of the night in each other’s arms. It seemed as impossible as Optimus’s regained sanity once did.

  
But they would’ve been truly mad not to hope for such a chance when it was raised directly before them. The only thing that stood in its way was their fears.

  
_SEPARATION._

  
_… Yearning._

  
Shifting back to meet his bonded’s optics, Tron lifted a clawed servo to cup silver faceplates.

  
_**… I’m afraid, Megatron.**_

  
Orion leaned into the servo, shuttering his optics and clutching his bonded’s claws. Flight engines rumbled through the room as the silver mech sucked in a vent of air.

  
_**So am I, my Prime.**_

  
Caressing the ridged side of his helm, the ex-warlord’s other servo found its way under the Prime’s chin, lifting it just so. In response, Optimus opened his optics, searching his bonded’s mighty gaze.

  
**_But I have hope. And I know you do too._**

  
With that, Optimus recycled his optics before closing them again. But he nodded into his palm. Like a parting kiss, his spark nuzzled against the other over their bond, and his servos squeezed the one they held tightly. Then, they let go. Megatron smiled tenderly at him, letting his digits drift over the other’s face before stepping backward, turning on a heel.

  
Something cold and shocking gripped his spinal strut in a vice as he approached Rung, but he shoved it to the wayside and hoped it didn’t show. Behind him, Orion’s arms wrapped around his front, watching the distance grow between them with bright, nervous optics.

  
Rung’s optics widened as Tron stood before him, and on the other side of the locked doors, the other Optimus Prime of this universe watched intently.

  
“How long will this be, Rung?”

  
He asked gruffly, clenching his fists and releasing them to focus on something other than the building anxiety welling in the bottom of his fuel tank. Thankfully, the psychologist regained his composure and answered quickly.

  
“Five kliks on the other side of the doors. That’s it, it does not have to be anything more for this cycle. If it is successful, then we’ll discuss the next step in our next session tomorrow. If not, we’ll begin by gradually working up to this point.”

  
Tron nodded. _Five kliks, that’s all._ He rolled and flexed his shoulders, trying to release the building tension. _Five kliks._

  
“Very well, then.”

  
_Nervousness. Worry._

  
It struck him over the bond and the silver mech looked over his shoulder at his bonded, who shifted his weight from one ped to the other. The side of his lip plate lifted in a small grin.

  
_Reassurance._

  
It had to be done. If he gave himself a sure reason, he could steel himself to do it. So it had to be done.

  
The silver mech strode forward to the door. Rung came to stand next to him, nodding at the bulky Prime through the door. With that, the lock clicked, and the cell door swung open. Optimus Prime stepped through, turning around the door to hold it open for the two of them. Rung waited until Tron moved first, hauling himself towards through the exit and into the chamber in between their cell and the hallway. As the door closed behind him with Rung’s nod, a fearful whine bled from Orion’s voice box.

  
_SEPARATION._

  
Tron’s frame jerked stiff, and when the door slammed shut he wheeled back around so quickly Rung had to duck to avoid his spiked shoulders.

  
“Tron, you need to focus.”

  
His bonded had run forth to the door when it shut, now standing directly on the other side with a servo pressed against the window. His metal brows creased with stress and fear laced his cerulean optics.

  
_Primus below…_

  
“Tron, listen to me, you will not be taken away from each other. You need to focus.”

  
Silver claws pressed to the window over his bonded’s servo without a conscious thought. Clenching his optics shut, a full body tremor traveled through him. His processor spun as his tank dropped to the floor, and he could feel an attack looming on the horizon. In desperation, he reached beyond the darkness clouding his thoughts and found the picture of stormy seas once again. He opened the memory file of Orion’s voice by his audial, speaking softly, quelling both of their fears.

  
_T-The ocean… Calm t-the ocean…_

  
“… That’s it, Tron, deep vents. Focus.”

  
Sucking in another inhalation of air, he turned his focus to their bond, grabbing at the throat of the emotions controlling them. He wrenched them away.

  
_Reassurance._

  
He opened his optics, and through the window Orion grasped his chest plates, venting heavily beside the other Prime.

  
_Reassurance._

  
**_It’s… it’s alright, beloved._**

  
The red and blue mech took a step away from the door, servo tightening its grip on his chest plates, but giving a small nod in affirmation. Tron’s digits pulled away from the door, and he forbid himself from looking back as he turned around. Rung stepped towards the other door, unlocking it.

  
“Are you ready?”

  
He nodded, not trusting his voice to give an appropriate answer. The psychologist opened the second door, holding it open to let him walk through. Every instinct, circuit, and joint in his frame coiled and jolted when the second door closed behind them. Rung stood before it, blocking the view of the window, but his faceplates observed his every movement with concern.

  
“Five kliks starts now, Tron.”

  
Five kliks… That’s all.

  
For a moment, he stared down the long hallway, recalling the way they came in. Their pathway to freedom. Something in the back of his processor pricked him through the anxiety, asking one simple question: _would you?_ It hung over him, giving him pause. _Would you run now, and take the chance?_ An ex-warlord wouldn’t have been able to count the times he would’ve tried five eons ago. When dark energon riddled his piping, driving him insane… But the broken mech he’d become? _Would he run?_ His spark seized at the mere thought, and he tore his optics away from the exit with a quiet, disgusted sneer. _No, never again._ His backplates hit the wall, and he braced against them to keep himself upright. He counted each nanosecond that passed by, clenching and releasing his fists.

  
_Never again._

  
*

  
Orion backed against the wall next to the door, gasping when he felt the cold of it seep into his armor. The scrap of metal against it met his audials as he slid down, collapsing into a sitting position as he brought his knees up against his arms that hugged his front. He rested his helm back on the cream-colored wall paint, shuttering his optics and staring hard at the ceiling in an attempt to stall the tears.

  
_Five kliks. We can do it. Five kliks_.

  
Beside him, Optimus Prime’s identical optics shined with strong alarm. He lowered himself to sit on his knees in front of the other red and blue mech.

  
“Orion… are you alright?”

  
His sky-risen cerulean optics closed tightly, but the tears he’d been holding back fell anyway.

  
“… No. I’m not.”

  
He whispered, trying so hard to calm the ocean he pictured in his processor. Most other days, he could quell it. Now, without his bonded at his side… it was near impossible.

  
Sitting back against the door, Optimus Prime propped his arm struts on his bent legs, watching the other closely. He ran through the memory file of the conversation he’d had with Rung before this. It had been fully explained to him that Orion might react like this, it would be hard on both of them. But the psychologist felt he needed to remain with Tron, who’s separation anxiety had proved to be worse. Nothing had been provided to aid Orion, and it frustrated Optimus. Rung had specifically stated he had the tools, he knew what to do. But it definitely wasn’t helping him now, if what he observed was any indication.

  
“… Rung did not provide me with any direct instructions to aid… But is there anything I can do?”

  
Coolant tears fell down his faceplates as Orion opened his optics. He stared at the other mech for a long moment, his limbs shaking in their crumbled position. He stayed silent, with an almost untrusting aura that made Optimus almost wish he could’ve taken the question back. Respectfully looking away, he rested his own helm back, optics now watching the ceiling.

  
“… S-Sense and Sensibility.”

  
The familiar voice was quiet, pulled back and reigned with so much emotion it was meek. Optimus’s gaze lowered back on Orion, shock and a pulse of curiosity in his field.

  
“Pardon?”

  
His circuits searched for the phrase in his memory banks as well as the human’s global internet service to find its proper meaning. He stilled when he found it.

  
“Do you mean the novel by the human, Jane Austen?”

  
Orion nodded, bringing a servo up to his faceplates to wipe away the wet streaks of his tears.

  
“H-Have you read it?”

  
Optimus recycled his optics at the question. _A distraction_. A very clear one. But when it came to this topic, something he was definitely able to do. Pulling back his battle mask, he shed a small smile at Orion.

  
“Yes, I have… Have you?”

  
Nodding once again, Orion took in a long, shuddering vent, seemingly calming himself.

  
“I-It’s very good. I t-thank you for putting it on the datapad.”

  
Something warm tickled at his spark at the endearment to the story, and Optimus’s smile widened. It wasn’t every cycle, after all, that someone shared his taste in literature.

  
“Thanks is not necessary, Orion. The honor is mine to see you liked it. What did you enjoy most about it?”

  
The red and blue mech’s optics fell to the ground as he thought, only a handful of stray tears falling from them. After a few kliks, he looked back up at the other Prime. And to Optimus’s great surprise, he gave him a soft smile.

  
“… I a-admired the joyful ending Marianne received after the betrayal. A-And I liked Elinor as a character, her witty comments were enjoyable.”

  
Recalling the human character brought a wider smile to the Prime’s face, and he hummed as he thought of her dialogue.

  
“I also deeply admired Elinor. Do you perhaps recall the quote in Chapter 16, when she and her sister were speaking of the Autumn season, and she said to her: ‘It is not everyone—”

  
“—who has your passion for d-dead leaves.’ Yes, t-that one is my favorite.”

  
Optimus could not help but chuckle, the warm feeling in his spark spreading into his field. He tipped his helm to the side as he gave Orion a lop-sided grin.

  
“It is mine as well.”

  
The other red and blue mech hummed a little laugh. His servos rubbed over his arm struts as if against something cold, but his optics were brightening, and he looked a lot more at ease.

  
Whatever he might be, or whoever he might be, Optimus understood one thing: he was a living, sentient being, and he was in pain. No one should have to suffer the way he did.

  
With that in mind, he checked his chronometer, finding three kliks still left on the timer, and pulled the conversation forward.

  
“Have you perhaps read Pride and Prejudice as well?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *As the two Optimus Primes relax in arm chairs across from each other*
> 
> TFP Optimus: Yes! In fact, Pride and Prejudice was the first of her works I read!  
> MTMTE Optimus: I read it first as well!   
> TFP Optimus: Can we agree that Mr. Darcy was a glitched fool for most of the story's length?   
> MTMTE Optimus: Indeed! That was NO way to respectfully treat a woman such as Elizabeth, much less her family!  
> TFP Optimus: If he hadn't redeemed himself in the end, he would've put Mr. Wickham to shame.  
> MTMTE Optimus: Oh, don't even get me started on Mr. Wickham!  
> Me: *sits in another corner watching, thoroughly enjoying the fact that the Primes are 1800 novel nerds*  
> Me: :)   
> Me: *suddenly realizes how peaceful the room is*  
> Me: :) ... :/  
> Me: Hey, where's Tron?   
> TFP Optimus: *falls silent*  
> Me: ... O_O  
> TFP Optimus: ... O_O
> 
> Meanwhile...
> 
> Megatron: *pounding on the outside of the cell door*  
> Megatron: I'M STILL OUT HERE!!


	33. Visitation

Two weeks after their first practice of parting therapy, Rung sat back against the desk chair facing his patients, tapping a single digit against his lip plates as his owlish optics wandered from the floor, to the ceiling, to the floor beneath his peds. Orion picked up his helm from where he’d laid it on his arm, propped up on Tron’s chest. Looking up at his bonded, he found red optics that were just as confused as he was. Their therapist had never acted this way before. What had changed? They could only assume they were doing well with parting therapy so far. Three times later, five kliks each, had all proven successful with neither bot banging on the door begging to return.

  
“I have an idea for our next session tomorrow.”

  
This time, Tron picked himself up, sitting up from where he’d been lounging against the headrest of their berth, helm tilted in the slightest. Orion sat up with him, sharing a curious and wary expression pointed towards the psychologist. Rung didn’t mind it, instead lowering his servo to his lap with a small nod to himself.

  
“Would you consent to having visitors for about two groons in the afternoon?”

  
_Visitors?_

  
Tron and Orion exchanged expressions, their fields flickering with multiple emotions at once. Rung patiently let them process the information, waiting about a klik before Tron turned back to the psychologist.

  
“It would depend on who it was, if you care to elaborate.”

  
Rung found himself humored by the answer, reminding him of all the wary Decepticons he’d treated, and he grinned before nodding.

  
“Of course. As you already know, I perform relationship counseling as well as psychological therapy for the bots of this city.”

  
When the couple collectively nodded, he continued.

  
“There is one couple whom I’ve been assisting for quite a few vorns, an Autobot mini-bot and a seeker by the names of Tailgate and Cyclonus. They love each other quite dearly, but we have had to combat Tailgate’s fear of his bonded, and there are times communication is lost between them.”

  
Orion’s optics drifted in thought, as if he were pulling up a memory file. Tron glanced over at him, rumbling softly to gain his attention, and they shared a quick gaze that told Rung they were most likely speaking to each other over their bond. The gaze ended quickly, however, and their attention was back on the psychologist in a matter of nanoseconds. He decided not to meditate on it, it did not seem worrisome.

  
“In one session with them a couple weeks ago, I happened to mention you and your way of communicating nonverbally. Not through the bond, but through your movements, gestures, and vocal processes. They found it quite fascinating. Every session since, they’ve asked after your well-being, and Tailgate has been begging to be allowed to visit.”

  
Both Tron and Orion lifted their optical brows at once. It was almost humorous how in tune their primary reactions were, but after that they differed. The red and blue mech’s expression turned bashful, his optics averting to the berth below him, but Rung didn’t miss the small smile that presented itself on his lip plates. His bonded huffed, expression caught somewhere in between an annoyed sneer and a curious hum.

  
“We’re not relationship teachers, Rung. Our habitual nonverbal communication is hard to express in words, we’ve simply been doing it long enough for it to suffice. Not to mention, I don’t see exactly how we’ll visit with this Tailgate and Cyclonus, given our current situation.”

  
Rung nodded in understanding, replying patiently.

  
“Cyclonus and Tailgate would come to this facility, with my approval and escort, and visit with you in your current living space for about two groons. I will remain present to monitor the interaction and remove them if it becomes too much for either of you to handle. The conversation itself does not have to be about your relationship if you wish to keep that information private, it can be whatever you choose it to be. In all honesty, I am aiming for the goal of this visitation to be for you both to gain preliminary social interaction, and perhaps create a friendship with other city residents.”

  
_Social interaction? Friendship?!_

  
Tron almost laughed out loud incredulously. When he tried to hold it in, it became a smirk and a rude chuckle. Orion perked up when he felt the incredulous and amused emotions over their bond and felt anger well in his spark. He whipped out an elbow and drove it hard into the silver mech’s abdominal plating. Rung winced as Tron’s optics blew wide and he wheezed, no air left in his vents after it was cleanly knocked out of him. Trying to breathe again, he turned to his bonded with an annoyed glance until he was met with a hard, icy glare from cerulean blue optics.

  
“That was not humorous at all. This is _serious!”_

  
He hissed. Tron had almost forgotten how hard his bonded could hit when provoked, simply not given the chance for the past few eons. The silver mech absently rubbed at the new dent in his armor, trying to figure out what he’d done wrong. He could understand his actions were wrong for not being serious in this situation. But why would his bonded have sounded so _offended_ by it? It truly was laughable, the thought of them trying to socialize with other mecha in their current state. He’d thought they established that. Unless… Tron felt the trembling edge of hurt amidst the anger in their bond, and his optics widened a second time with dawning comprehension. He immediately withered, guilt bleeding through their bond.

  
_**Optimus my beloved I’m sorry. It was not my intent to make fun of your social anxiety.**_

  
Cautiously he held out his arms, hoping Orion might take the apology, but he was rejected when the red and blue mech scooted himself out of his reach. He winced at the ice that remained in those cerulean blue optics, letting his arms drop.

  
_**… Did you so quickly forget that my anxiety stems from the loss of our people to our captors? I lost my team, Megatron… they were my family.**_

  
Pain shot through his spark, and he winced again.

  
_Definitely shouldn’t have laughed at that._

  
His shoulders sunk.

  
_**I’m sorry, beloved… Truly, I am.**_

  
Orion stared at him blankly for a few more moments before he sighed, the anger in his optics fading as he turned to the therapist.

  
“I consent to meeting Cyclonus and Tailgate tomorrow… We’ve lost so many friends. But I think I’d like to make new ones.”

  
Rung’s smile widened immediately, and he nodded enthusiastically.

  
“That is excellent to hear, Orion. Tron, what do you think?”

  
Both pairs of blue optics turned to him, and the silver mech immediately straightened. He turned to his bonded first.

  
“Orion is right. We’ve lost too many friends to turn away now… I also consent to this visitation.”

  
Their therapist’s field expressed great joy in this approval. He stood with a small bounce in his step as his owlish optics gleamed.

  
“I will contact them immediately to let them know of your approval.”

  
Rising from the desk chair, he grasped it in lean digits and replaced it back at the desk, signifying this session’s end.

  
“However, I will warn you in advance that they will most likely bring their sparklings with them.”

  
_SPARKLINGS?!_

  
_Shock._

  
Both mecha on the berth jolted in place, staring at the psychologist with wide optics.

  
“S-Sparklings…?”

  
Orion asked in quiet awe, emotion quickly building in his spark and choking his intake. In response, Rung nodded with a small smile.

  
“Yes, they have twin sparklings about two vorns old. They’ve brought them to our therapy sessions before. They can be a bit fussy but are overall very well behaved. If this is a problem, I can tell them that this wouldn’t be the proper place to bring them at this time. I’m sure they’d understand.”

  
_Sparklings…_

  
The last time either of them had ever seen living sparklings… Was on Cybertron, long before they met with the Senate. They were quite old memory files, and besides the preliminary discussion about sparklings they’d had with Rung a couple weeks before, both of them had nearly forgotten sparklings even existed. The thought of such youth and innocence still in existence made both of their sparks pulse in their casings.

  
“N-No!”

  
Orion blurted out, surprising both mechs in the room with him. Realizing what he did, he quickly cleared his intake, continuing politely.

  
“What I meant to say, is that we’d be delighted to meet them.”

  
Smiling in agreement, his bonded nodded at Rung to show it. The psychologist hummed with barely concealed amusement.

  
“I will let them know to bring the sparklings then. Until tomorrow; goodnight Tron, goodnight Orion.”

  
They bid him goodnight in return, and Rung left their cell for the evening, leaving them alone in the company of the setting sun outside their window.

  
_Awe._

  
Megatron turned to his bonded when he felt it, raw and full. He couldn’t help but croon at the joy that came with it.

  
**_Well, there you are, Optimus. It looks like we’ll get to see sparklings after all._**

  
A few moments passed before the Prime responded, glancing back at him with a blank expression. He huffed heatedly.

  
_**You are not excused of your actions, Megatron. What you did was rude and hurtful.**_

  
Immediately deflating with defeat, the silver mech’s shoulder’s drooped again. He glanced back up at his bonded guiltily, optics beginning to brim with desperation.

  
_**Beloved, I never intended to insult you. You must believe that. I am truly sorry for hurting you.**_

  
Megatron slowly scooted across the berth towards his bonded, who huffed again and turned away, crossing his arms over his chest plates. Crooning tenderly once more, the silver mech’s field pattered at the Prime’s slithering, sharper edges. Eventually he moved close enough to wrap his arms around his bonded from behind, switching on his flight engines to rumble between them.

  
_**Please, my Prime, don’t be angry with me.**_

  
He pressed against him, cooing and lightly growling before bending his helm to kiss affectionately at the other’s neck cables. Optimus shifted slightly with a small grumble but did not react otherwise. Megatron persisted.

  
_**Please…**_

  
Burrowing his faceplates into the crook of the other’s neck and shoulder, he whined miserably. Later on, he might never admit he’d stooped to this level, but desperation could make a mech do just about anything. Finally, after the third whine, Optimus sighed, and his posture slumped back to rest against silver chest plates. He leaned his helm against his bonded’s.

  
_**Only if you promise to behave with the visitors tomorrow.**_

  
Megatron smirked against his bonded’s neck. Pulsing affection over their bond, he suddenly sighed dramatically out loud as if it would be an impossible task.

  
_**By the Pits of Kaon… I suppose if it’s you who asks this of me, I can make the attempt to not tear off their helms for looking at you.**_

  
Optimus tried to keep a straight, stoic face. But when his bonded nuzzled at him again, he couldn’t help but grin with a chuckle, eyeing the silver mech on his shoulder.

  
_**What am I ever going to do with you?**_

  
Lifting his helm to properly look at the red and blue mech in his lap, he tapped his chin in an obvious feign of thought.

  
_**Well, if you don’t have anything better to do this night cycle… You could always keep an old gladiator company.**_

  
Shaking his helm with a chuckle, the Prime pushed his helm up and underneath the ex-warlord’s chin. Megatron wouldn’t admit how adamantly his spark pulsed when his bonded curled up against his frame, closing his optics with a sigh.

  
_**As if I would’ve wanted it any other way.**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Megatron: Who in the name of Unicron are this... Tailgate and Cyclonus?  
> Me: Oh, they're another couple from the MTMTE universe. I like them because they're, like, the embodiment of character development.   
> Optimus: How so, Ebony?  
> Me: Well, it's my understanding that at first, Cyclonus did not care much for Tailgate at all. But after a while, it came to the point that in a conversation between the seeker and another bot (good Primus I gotta figure out how to incorporate Whirl into this story...), he stated: "... I'll split this world open and tear down the sky before I allow him to come to even the slightest harm."   
> Optimus: O.O   
> Megatron:   
> Optimus: ... That's so romantic.  
> Megatron:  
> Optimus: *turns to Megatron*  
> Optimus: Why don't you ever say anything like that to me?  
> Megatron:   
> Megatron: Uh...
> 
> It's official. Our self-proclaimed revolutionary leader over here has been outdone. Help him.


	34. The Touch of Youth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: *typing away at my laptop*  
> Optimus: *creeps in, peers over my shoulder*  
> Optimus: ... You're updating the story?  
> Me: *cranes neck backwards to make eye contact with the metal giant*  
> Me: No, I'm writing the Declaration of Independence.  
> Optimus: *gasps* SHE UPDATED THE STORY!!  
> Megatron: ... Scrap. She updated the story.

Neither mech could sit still as the groons ticked by into the afternoon.

  
Megatron was the first to rise and pace, expelling the excess energy coiled in his joints and cables. His spark felt on edge, and his processor ran through any and all possibilities of what these mechs would be like, and how this interaction would go. It wasn’t good for his nerves, but it gave him something to do besides roaming the human’s internet service again. He did this for about two and a half groons before Optimus also rose, seemingly more patient at first as he took a towel from the cabinet and washed his faceplates in front of the sink. But then he began pacing as well, walking back and forth from there to the desk beside the door. As he walked, he gestured and spoke to himself, something that used to be foreign to the Prime who kept his thoughts quiet. The silver mech couldn’t help but pause when he heard a heated huff, glancing over at his bonded who shook his helm at himself before pivoting on a heel and walking back towards the sink. He raised an inquiring metal brow.

  
_**What are you doing?**_

  
At first, he received no response, instead watching the Prime mutter to himself as he reached the sink and paused in his steps again. After a still moment, he groaned, slapping a servo to his faceplates and walking the other way.

_**How do I introduce myself?** _

  
The ex-warlord recycled his optics. _That’s an… odd question._ He stared at his bonded for a couple more nanoseconds before he chuckled with a slight tinge of amusement.

  
**_Introduce yourself? What do you mean?_**

  
What caused Megatron amusement was clearly bothering Optimus to no end. His small smirk fell as the Prime only continued to pace and mutter to himself, covering his faceplates with a servo and shaking his helm. His steps were gradually becoming uneven in stride and his turns unbalanced.

  
_**We haven’t interacted with true civilians since before our war… What do I do? What do I say? I’m afraid if I try a proper introduction, I’ll blurt out my true designation!**_

  
Optimus was babbling. The silver mech could not process it at first. But as he continued to speak through the bond with nervous energy flowing between them, memory files of Orion Pax began to pop up in the forefront of his processor. It was so… foreign to Optimus Prime. Though then again, so was insanity, which he’d also seen from him until fairly recently. Putting aside how strange it was, Megatron couldn’t help but find it the slightest bit endearing.

  
Though if he didn’t act soon, his bonded was going to trip over his own two peds.

  
_**\--and what will they think of us? Will they be suspicious? What if they don’t like us? What if, oh Primus, what if they do? What—**_

  
_Calm._

  
The Prime gasped as he ran face-first into the ex-warlord, pulling his helm out of his servo and jumping back a step in surprise. Megatron only watched him quietly, catching the servo to twine it with one of his, and using his free one to wrap around the other’s frame, stroking over his backplates.

  
**_Optimus, my beloved, you’re working yourself into a panic._**

  
Tension in the red and blue mech’s limb struts eased under his bonded’s soothing field. But his optics remained bright with frantic energy.

  
_**I can’t help it. We haven’t done this in so long, I feel as if I don’t even know what to do.**_

  
Megatron rumbled at his bonded, leaning down to nuzzle his cheek. Slowly, the silver mech guided his bonded towards the berth. As he sat, he pulled the other with him, feeling their shoulder armor brush against one another.

  
_**Introductions are as easy as you make them, my Prime. Simply try to be yourself.**_

  
The Prime lifted a metal brow, even as he returned to affection with a sigh.

  
_**I’m not sure being myself will help these matters at all. Functioning processor or not, I’m not exactly the sanest mech to behold.**_

  
This time it was Megatron’s turn to lift a metal brow.

  
_**Neither am I. But I’m going through with this because you wanted it.**_

  
Blue cerulean optics tilted upwards as they parted, meeting the red optics that stared back. The silver mech curled both servos around the Prime’s waist, pulling him a little closer.

  
**_Sane or insane, Orion Pax or Optimus Prime, it has never mattered. An eternity has passed, and I have loved you for everything you are. So I am sure these visitors will be inclined to like you._**

  
Devotion and determination flooded his spark through their bond. Optimus couldn’t help but be bashful, averting his optics as heat rushed to his faceplates. Though not visible, it was reminiscent of a human blush. Megatron smiled briefly at the expression, feeling the knot that had formed in his tank unwind as the warmth of his bonded seeped into his plating.

  
There they sat, leaning against each other and feeling the ever-present reality fade into the background. They traded it for the darkened, quiet place between their sparks, the spiritual place they saw their sparks exist in, spinning around each other in a never-ending dance. For now they slowed, turning in a steady, meandering circle as if locked in a waltz. How long they remained there, awareness fallen away from physicality, neither of them knew.

  
Time passed before the lock of the first door to their cell jiggled, clanking and tinkling before the hinges of the door creaked to signal it was swinging open. The couple inside the cell startled and jumped at the sudden sound, turning on their physical sensory array in a disoriented and groggy state. Their sparks both clenched as they watched Rung move to open the second door, seeing another tall figure’s shadow through the window behind him.

  
_**The visitors.**_

  
Optimus whispered over the bond, subconsciously sliding toward the silver mech next to him. Turning himself to face the door, Megatron let his bonded lean back against his chest plates, acknowledging the anxiety now passing between them before grounding himself, his servos rubbing small circles into the other’s sides.

  
The second door opened, and Rung was the first to enter. Two steps in he stopped and pivoted towards the door, holding up a servo to the mechs on the other side to signal them to wait. After a moment he then turned back around to face his patients inside the cell.

  
“Good afternoon.”

  
He greeted with a small smile. The tone of his voice rose in the slightest with each word, demonstrating the change in routine and what was soon to come. Tron and Orion both nodded back wordlessly, not trusting their voice boxes in this new experience just yet.

  
“Your visitors are here. Are you ready to receive them?”

  
_Not really._

  
Orion’s field swarmed around him nervously, bumping against his bonded’s with an edgy gracelessness. Questions and self-doubt raced through his processor, and he shut off his optics to battle against it. _They mean no harm._ He took a deep vent. _It’s time to make new friends._ Releasing a long exhale, he was able to ground himself, pulling his field inward and stabilizing it beside his bonded. Tron watched as Orion lifted his optics to meet with his own, giving a single nod to show he was ready. With that, he turned to Rung.

  
“Yes.”

  
The psychologist nodded back in affirmation, and with quiet steps he peeked back through the door, speaking quietly to the bots on the other side. Tron could not make out any individual words, but he noted the cautious fluctuation of his tone. If he had to guess, it was most likely how to behave when they stepped into the cell. The thought almost drew a snort from him. _I’m sure we could be compared to caged animals amongst normal bots at this point._ As he mused, the door opened once again, and this time Rung pulled it wide and held it open. Orion stilled, and Tron’s thoughts came to a halt as their visitors entered.

  
A tall, purple and silver mech strode through first, his clawed servos hung loosely at his sides. His digits curled in, as if in an unconscious search for a weapon they always held. His ped steps shook the ground beneath him, much like Tron’s, and he carried himself with no small amount of pride of a seasoned warrior. Like Tron, he bore red optics and his gaze was piercing, cold and foreboding with an underlying threat capsuled within. From his position on the berth, the silver mech received full view of the silver horns adorning the mech’s helm, bent upwards with long sharp points that could easily kill a bot. Narrowing his gaze at the warrior mech, he unconsciously rolled his shoulders, letting his spikes glint in the sunlight shining through the window behind them. At the action, the purple mech’s gaze focused on him, and they locked optics for a long, tense klik.

  
“Cyclonus! You’re in the way! We want to see them too!”

  
A small, pleasant, but whining of a voice suddenly sounded off by the door. The purple mech was the first to break optical contact, recycling his lenses as if broken from a trance. Twisting around to peer over his shoulder and down, he stayed like that for another few nanoseconds before side-stepping to the right.

  
“My apologies, Tailgate.”

  
His voice was dark and sharp, curling off his lips like a growl. But Tron and Orion had no time to process that before they were faced with the rest of their visitors.

  
The mini-bot behind Cyclonus was about half his size, the tip of his helm coming up to the bottom of his waistline. Bright sky blue alternated with white on his frame, a cheerful appearance to accompany the pleasant voice of the little mech. Though his true face was covered by a white mask and a blue visor, his field spoke for his expression, radiating excitement alongside a docile peace with such harmony it was dizzying.

  
Beside Tailgate the mini-bot, holding each of his small white servos on either side, were two sparklings that stood a little over half as tall as him. Their frame types were identical, nimble and lanky like Cyclonus, but soft in color like Tailgate. On the left side, a purple and white bitlet blinked at them with blue optics. On the right side, a blue and white bitlet huddled close to the creator they held onto, their red optics scrutinizing the mecha before them in a stark resemblance to the warrior.

  
Orion’s optics blew wide and he gasped before he could contain it, the shock of seeing live sparklings for the first time in many millennia hitting him full force. Then his processor caught up with what he just did as all pairs of optics focused on him, and he slapped a servo over his intake and curled in on himself, his field swirling in embarrassment. Tron couldn’t help the amusement at his actions, fondly reminded of Orion Pax’s shyness in another life. Tenderly stroking up his side once more, he rumbled at his bonded.

  
**_You’re allowed to show emotions, my Prime. Don’t hide._**

  
Rung watched the reactions and exchange with an ever observant gaze, shutting the door behind him before walking forth into the middle of the room. He started to gesture to each bot and began introductions.

  
“Cyclonus, Tailgate; this is Tron and Orion, the city’s newest arrivals.”

  
Lifting his optics meekly, the red and blue bot was met with the shining blue visor of the mini-bot, his equivalent of a smile without a view of his intake.

  
Orion, Tron; this is Cyclonus and Tailgate. And these are their bitlets, Whirlwind and Cyclone.”

  
Cyclone, the purple and white bitlet, blinked at the bigger bots once more. Then, he raised an impossibly small servo, waving it in greeting.

  
“… Hi.”

  
The little one squeaked. Tron and Orion both felt their sparks melt. The red and blue mech slowly let his servo fall from his faceplates, using it to wave back as a small smile stole his lip plates.

  
“Hello.”

  
He spoke softly, and the bitlet giggled happily. Cyclonus’s helm tilted to the side, mild curiosity flickering through his optics as he crossed his arms over his chest plates. Beside him, Whirlwind repeated the head gesture, and Tron forced himself to not snort at the humorous display. Tailgate, who’s gaze wandered to each bot, was the second one to break the ice.

  
“Tron, Orion, it’s so good to finally meet you! Rung’s told us a lot about you!”

  
Finding himself near the edge of the room, the psychologist ducked his helm at the acknowledgement. In response to Tailgate, Tron quickly cleared his intake and nodded respectfully.

  
“Likewise, Tailgate. Cyclonus.”

  
The purple warrior’s gaze shifted back to him, and he hesitated before nodding once back, his optics immediately returning to Tailgate and the twins. In turn, Tron’s servos wrapped themselves around the entire span of Orion’s waist, and his field enfolded around him. The heavy, unspoken implication of _mate, family, protect_ hung between both of them, forcing them to call a stalemate on the challenge that thrummed in their Decepticon coding and shift their focus to the peaceful compromise their loved ones were more likely to make.

  
Suddenly, Cyclone tugged at his creator’s servo, causing Tailgate to lean down while the bitlet whispered in his audial. After a moment of silence, the mini-bot’s visor flashed, and he gleamed down at the little bot.

  
“As long as you promise to be nice, and you do it exactly the way sire and I taught you! Is that understood, Cyclone?”

  
The bitlet nodded vigorously with wide optics. Orion and Tron both furrowed their metal brows, exchanging confusion in their bond before the mini-bot turned back to them.

  
“If it is alright with you, Cyclone would like to properly shake servos.”

  
The couple recycled their optics at the request, their gaze switching from each other to the mini-bot and the bitlet who’s small field was filled to the brim with hope.

  
_**Megatron…**_

  
_Awe. Delight._

  
Blue optics turned back to the silver mech, as if asking permission. A smile pulled at his lip plates as his servos pulled back to rest on the red and blue mech’s hips. He hummed at him, the sound reverberating from deep in his chest as he nudged the back of his helm.

  
**_Go on._**

  
Orion’s field pulsed nervously, but something near joy filled in right at its side. He carefully pulled himself from his bonded’s grasp, attracting the attention of all mecha in the room. Then, he slid off the berth, falling to his knees beside it and sitting back on his heels to face the bitlet. Cyclone’s blue optics flashed brighter, and he pulled himself out of his carrier’s grasp, his tiny ped steps echoing through the room as he stomped toward the red and blue mech. A moment passed in silence as he paused in front of the adult mech, looking up at him curiously before he then stuck his servo out. Orion’s servo trembled as he slowly reached out, nervous thoughts and fears swarming his processor that he couldn’t shut out.

  
But then the bitlet grabbed ahold of two of his digits, grip firm and unwavering before pulling it up and down in a shake. Sucking in a shuddering vent, the Prime let the tiny servo hold him steady and move his servo, and the grin on his faceplates widened. In response, Cyclone smiled and giggled.

  
“Big servo!”

  
The little one suddenly exclaimed, then laughed again. It’s melodious sound filled the room, bringing a grin to every mech’s face. Orion’s spark spun with such joy he felt lightheaded. He swallowed back a sob and blinked back coolant tears before nodding in agreement.

  
“Yes, little one, I have a big servo.”

  
Cyclone stared up at him with round blue optics, alternating between his faceplates and the servo who’s weld scars from the glass cuts still remained unbuffed. He looked at it in wonder before then turning around to his twin.

  
“Whirlie! Lookie! Big servo!”

  
Red optics blinking owlishly, the blue and white sparkling immediately reached towards his spark twin with a small chirp. Tailgate chuckled when he hesitated, his grip still tight on the mini-bot. With a gentle nudge forward, Tailgate released the other sparkling, gesturing for him to go on when he watched him nervously. When Cyclone giggled again, his twin finally made the courageous dash away, joining him to stand and marvel at the red and blue bot. Like his brother, he took hold of Orion’s servo, and when he also shook it, the shyness bled away into a little smile and happy chirps.

  
“Orion, you’re a natural with sparklings! Whirlwind doesn’t usually warm up to other bots so quickly!”

  
Looking up from the bitlets playing with his digits, the Prime watched as Tailgate praised him excitedly. Cyclonus moved from his stoic position at the side, coming to stand next to his mini-bot and join servos. At the statement, his laugh came in a short burst that released pure elation into his field, making the sparklings laugh with him. Just a couple weeks ago, he was dying of a broken processor, stuck spinning in the dark between the nightmares and reality. Now here he sat with a clear view of the first two sparklings they’d seen since Cybertron’s destruction.

  
_**You’re trying not to cry, aren’t you?**_

  
Tilting his helm back, he was met with the faceplates of his bonded. They encompassed such an expression of joy that for a moment it returned to the ex-warlord years of youth that had long been lost. Orion hummed, feeling that building ball of emotion well in his intake and willing himself to push it back down.

  
**_Just barely, Megatron. Just barely._**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: There you go.  
> Me: *drops microphone*  
> Me: *walks off stage*  
> Megatron: ... When did we get a stage?


	35. Coalescence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Hey look I updated again.... Holy fuck this is a long chapter.  
> Me: Alright listen you virgins. This chapter's got some sexy action and then some mentions of torture, rape, experimentation, and slavery in it, so if you don't like it the exit tab's in the top right corner.  
> Me: What happens in this chapter I would think doesn't happen in actual mental institutions (well, you know, I'm sure someone has done it just because they fucking could) so please, don't take this literally. It's just for the story.  
> Me: Also, someone help these metal morons I call my muses. They have terrible ideas.

The air around them felt different that night cycle.  
  
It was _electric_ and buzzed around them like meteors and comets flung by gravity through a galaxy. Like particles of pure energy, the air energized them. They felt restless, the energon in their piping pumping faster than normal and their joints coiled, as if waiting for something to happen. Their scanners felt over the walls again and again, feeling no danger present. Only each other in this living space called a cell.  
  
Optimus stared out the window at the lights of the city beyond. There were so many, and they were so bright. He wondered if he were staring at the world turned upside down; a city of stars on the ground against the dim black sky. It reminded him of the lights of Cybertron, how they shined so much brighter than the balls of hot gas that dotted the dark matter of space. No city on the Earth he remembered was ever so bright to mimic Cybertron. But this was no ordinary Earthen city was it?  
  
_Aching_.  
  
The sting that was the absence of Cybertron had dulled over the eons, only enough to be an eased throb when he thought about it. Tonight, he did, but not as he usually would. He thought of the pleasant memories that had come from it. The Iaconian Hall of records that shimmered blue with the depths of Cybertronian knowledge, and their keeper Alpha Trion, whom had become a sire-like figure to him in his time as Orion Pax. The streets of the cities, bustling with life and so many alt mode colors amidst the shining silver of their metal planet. The small, medical clinic in the center of Iacon, and a certain young medic with too many wrenches to throw and a wistful smile always saved for an old friend… Even the pits of Kaon. Perhaps most especially the pits of Kaon; where he’d watched gladiators fight for the victory and met a silver warrior called Megatronus that topped them all. The champion of the pits, the revolutionary of Cybertron. His one and only bond mate.  
  
_My Megatronus_.  
  
Whose powerful, steady, and silver arms wrapped around him from behind to hold him close. Optimus leaned back into their embrace, his own servos grasping them against his chest as his thoughts wandered to areas of his processor he had not been allowed to think on before. They had changed, both of them drastically. One shift to another had put them together, torn them apart, entrapped them to death, and let them escape again. It had worn them down, he could feel it. When the ever-present terror was finally stripped away from their frames and left them bare, the only thing left for them to feel was their age. Optimus knew he was ancient, weathered, scarred and weary of life’s tests. And he knew Megatron felt the same, deep in his spark.  
  
But, as old and scarred as they were, they couldn’t bring themselves to regret what had brought them to this point tonight. Oh, there would be plenty of time to regret in the morning, and in the time to come. Though it would have to wait. This cycle the air around them was energized, and they remembered that the frames around their sparks were still alive. They were created, they lived, they endured, and they were here. No longer was it one or the other. It was the two of them, finally together after all this time, just as Megatronus and Orion had meant to be.  
  
_Aching_.  
  
Perhaps it was just luck, or perhaps it was every bit of experience to be reflected upon that they’d finally figured out one of the most important of life’s questions. They knew it now, as they reveled in each other’s presence, and they dimly wished Orion and Megatronus had known it too: home wasn’t Cybertron for either of them, it never had been. They missed it because they were raised in it, and to everyone else, it was where they belonged. Now, Cybertron was destroyed, their race was nearly extinct, and did not exist in that universe anymore. Megatron and Optimus Prime would never be the same again, but they would find peace in each other’s presence, because their home did not lie with Cybertron. Their home lay with each other.  
  
As long as these two stars revolved around one another in the darkness that surrounded them, they would always be home. Right where they belonged.  
  
_Home_.  
  
Optimus closed his optics as these thoughts drifted away like the foamy sea on a shoreline. They would return eventually, but only when the tide came back in. For now, he would focus on the weight of his bonded against him. For now, he would forget.  
  
… _Closer_.  
  
He turned in Megatron’s arms, opening his optics to look up, and was met with the glow of red in return. They watched him curiously.  
  
_I want to be closer._  
  
His spark ached, and the other felt it as he reached up, closing the distance between them. Megatron met him halfway, and their lip plates met with a quiet clink. The kiss was slow and soft, wandering without destination as they pressed closer. Optimus’s arms curled around his bonded’s strong neck, and Megatron’s clawed servos wrapped around his middle, pulling them together. Air between them was squeezed out of the way as the armor of their frames brushed, eliciting tiny static shocks that lit their neural nets pleasantly. The Prime gasped as they prickled over his abdominal plating and he suddenly jumped forward against the ex-warlord, quietly begging to be even _closer_. Megatron grunted, but caught him without second thought, reaching down to grasp his thighs instead and let them wrap over the groove of his hips. In return, his sharp denta scraped against the other’s bottom lip and his glossa followed, deepening their kiss to give it a straighter path with a clearer destination. A small whimper crawled from his throat as he pressed back, allowing Megatron what he sought and crossing his legs around silver hips.  
  
They fumbled together with a returning grace, remembering what to do as if they hadn’t waited eons to do this again. The air around them felt oppressive, poking and tingling at their armor in little jolts that made them twitch and move against one another, causing more of those pleasurable static shocks. Their core temperatures were spiking, heat traveling over them at an exhilarating rate before beginning to focus on the one specific area that would soon matter most. Megatron felt the moment when thought started to fade from his bonded’s processor, being replaced instead by instinct. It was the moment he arched his back strut inward, rolling his blue hips against him in a slow and wanting grind of metal. He almost lost his balance at the onslaught of pleasure, stepping backwards to catch them both as he clutched the Prime tighter.  
  
**_How… How far do you want to go?_**  
  
His spark was spinning and pulsing, it made it hard to speak through the bond. But physically speaking was impossible and unwanted. It would force them to separate, and that was no option. He put his focus of lingering rational thought in their connection and in his legs, walking them both towards the berth beside them.  
  
_**As f-far… as we can!**_  
  
Optimus stuttered over the bond, rolling his hips once more to feel the shocking energy in his neural net. A fire lit in the silver mech’s chest and roiled through him until it sunk low in his tanks. He growled possessively, claws sliding up to curl at the armor of his bonded’s back as they both dropped to the berth. When his denta moved downward to nibble and bite the other’s neck cables, cerulean blue optics flickered, and his helm tipped backward as a long moan escaped him. Megatron rumbled appreciatively at the sound of it, feeling the Prime’s deft servos drift over his plating and dip in and out of the seams. When the Prime finds a particular seam beneath the plating of his waist and reaches in, he tweaks the wiring within, remembering how especially sensitive they were under scrutiny. A white hot flash of energy shoots through him when the right wire is pinched, and he bites down on the other’s shoulder with a low growl.  
  
Their fumbling movements turn frenzied, begging for more friction and electricity. Optimus’s slow, rolling grinds coax Megatron to follow, somehow moving with him in a sort of sway of their hips as they still manage to stay upright. The Prime doesn’t lay back against the pillows of the berth, instead he scoots backward until his back is leaning against the wall, and lets his bonded lean over him that way, on his knees propped on either side of the Prime’s stretched legs. Megatron is past the point of questioning their position, not that he would’ve cared anyway. He’d occupied himself with working his way down, mapping out every inch of his bonded’s frame with kneading servos as Optimus grabbed him by his helm and pulled him back upwards, begging for another searing kiss. Their focus was lost; instinct guided them through the haze of pleasure as the heat between them intensified. Megatron lost track of his servos as they kneaded ever downwards, kneading at the Prime’s hips before sliding down and messaging his thighs.  
  
Optimus shuddered at the feeling of claws over him, marking and possessing all over again. He knew where they were going, but he didn’t care. Not soon enough. They slid to the insides of his thighs, and suddenly their path felt familiar. They instantly turned from Megatron’s soothing servos to dark slithering tendrils reaching for his innermost vulnerability. Destroying his innocence, his sense of self.  
  
_“No one can hear you.”_  
  
Optimus gasped into the kiss with clear and wide optics, and he stilled rigidly.  
  
_Fear_.  
  
_**Wait!! Stop!!**_  
  
Megatron was jolted out of his haze by the onslaught of panic that his spark feels from the bond. His optics blew wide at the realization it was from his bonded and he immediately stopped, pulling away from their kiss and releasing his grip before leaning back. He eyed his bonded actively, desperate to figure out what he’d done.  
  
_**What’s wrong?! Are you alright?!**_  
  
Snapping his legs back together and crossing them unconsciously, Optimus shuddered as he folded his arms insecurely over himself. He was unable to meet the optics of his bonded.  
  
_**Flashback… Forgive me.**_  
  
Recycling his optics at the Prime, Megatron shook his helm as he reached out a caring servo to rub his bonded’s arm.  
  
**_Don’t say that, you have no reason to be sorry._**  
  
His red arm strut turned over and a black servo grasped the silver claws that held onto him. The silver mech squeezed them reassuringly as he leaned back on his knees.  
  
**_I did not realize this might cause a flashback. Did they-_**  
  
Megatron suddenly stilled as another realization chilled him, and his optics once again blew wide as his other arm strut flew forward to grasp both of his bonded’s servos.  
  
_**What have they done to you?! Did they TAKE you in the labs?!**_  
  
_Horror. Abhorrence. Anger._  
  
Optimus flinched at the reminder as well as the instant wave of overwhelming emotions. The silver mech grasped this a moment too late and toned them down with a deep vent, waiting patiently for an answer.  
  
**_… Not in the way you’d expect._**  
  
He wanted to curl away and hide, feeling the lingering charge in his systems to be a mockery of what the captors had robbed him of. His bonded, however, stared at him with furrowed brows for a klik until he embraced the other with a loving, understanding field, and leaned forward to press a kiss against his forehelm.  
  
**_Don’t hide from me, beloved._**  
  
His spark registered the meaning of the statement before his processor did, and the Prime finally looked up to see his bonded’s servo held between them turned backwards. It was a nearly useless ritual now, but an instinctual sense of relief quelled the panic he’d felt from the unexpected flashback. They joined servos and held on tight.  
  
**_They took everything from us, and thought they won… They were wrong. They couldn’t keep us caged, nor could they kill us. I refuse to believe they took this from us too._**  
  
Cerulean blue optics stared at the determined glint of crimson red. _He’s… he’s right._ Nervousness prickled at his lines, but he focused on the feeling of silver claws in his digits instead. _They don’t control us anymore… They don’t control me anymore._  
  
Taking a deep vent, and repeating the phrase a couple more times, Optimus grounded himself and leaned back against the wall feeling a lot better than he did a couple kliks ago. He gave his bonded a small smile, which was returned in earnest before he pressed a kiss to black digits.  
  
If you wish to stop for tonight and rest, we can. You know I will not hold it against you.  
  
No, he wouldn’t. Because even if he didn’t know what the Prime had truly gone through, he wouldn’t hold it to be any better than what he’d gone through. They’d both suffered, and he knew there were still limits and breaking points. Optimus is ever grateful for the choice he is given…  
  
_Closer._  
  
He steels himself as he makes his decision.  
  
_I want to be closer._  
  
Tightening his grip on his bonded’s arm struts, he pulls him forward enough to leave him wobbling dangerously on his knees. With a gasp he falls forth against Optimus, yanking his arms out of the other’s grip to slam against the wall with a clang on either side of his helm. He stares at his bonded incredulously until the Prime leans forward to kiss him. As it deepens, they both relax.  
  
**_Take me as far as you can._**  
  
Crimson optics watch him questioningly from how close they are, and he nods once against his forehelm. Megatron puts his knees back under him, taking his servos off the wall to cup his faceplates.  
  
_**If you find you can’t handle it, beloved, tell me right away. Understand?**_  
  
Optimus nods again, pressing against his bonded to feel more of the addictive friction they’d found before. The air around them is still brimming with electricity, and they find it is not hard to build up charge again. Megatron twines their servos together, a wordless reassurance that it was him and they were safe, as the other wanders over the other’s plating. It takes a few kliks, but once their core temperatures rise, it isn’t long before they roll their hips together at once, unconsciously asking for the same thing. The Prime’s whimper is met by the ex-warlord’s long groan. For the first time in eons, the silver mech lets his interface plating slide away, and his helm falls in the slightest with a hitch to his vents when the buzzing air hits his components. Optimus gasps when he feels a long, ridged spike against his thigh, and a full frame shudder travels over him. It feels so _different_ from what those dark tendrils had felt like, but it’s so simultaneously familiar to him that it makes his spark pulse. And finally, in response to the other’s actions, his interface plating slides back at his command.  
  
Megatron croons to his bonded joyfully, and Optimus’s shuddering optics blink back into a hazy focus as the free clawed servo glides down his chest to his abdominal plating and continues to the tip of where his interface plating slid away. His grasp on the silver mech’s servo tightens.  
  
**_Be easy, my beloved. It’s just me. You’re safe._**  
  
The other’s spark comforts as it sends affection and devotion through their bond. Optimus’s helm droops and falls against the other’s shoulder, looking down between them to watch his bonded’s digits find their way lower. Wanting to watch. Wanting to know that it’s Megatron, and not the product of his own fears. Wanting to know that this was no dream, this was reality. The side of Megatron’s drooped helm bumps against his, and they unconsciously nuzzle each other as clawed digits pull down to gently prod at the Prime’s valve entrance. Their touch sends neural shocks up his spinal strut.  
  
“Ooh…”  
  
He moans, his optics offlining for a moment as his free servo grasps onto Megatron’s shoulder for stability, even if his lower back is leaned against the wall. The silver mech croons again, letting his digit tease and circle the entrance without dipping inside.  
  
_**Feel good?**_  
  
Optimus’s vents hitch when his lubricant protocols boot up, and slowly begins to drip from his valve, awakening sensors that had long been dormant and collecting on his bonded’s digit. The whine he releases is so high it’s almost a keen.  
  
**_Yes!_**  
  
Megatron pauses before slowly dipping a digit inside, rumbling his flight engines as he teases at his inner valve walls. Optimus stills, the sensation of it shocking his systems for a brief few nanoseconds. The digit is _nothing_ like those dark, chilling, and airy tendrils that had penetrated him before. It’s warm, it’s familiar, and it’s _solid_. Completely and utterly solid. It takes his fear away immediately. His spark pulses in such relief that he sobs against Megatron.  
  
_They didn’t take this away._  
  
He rocks his hips against the digit, craving more of that wonderful touch.  
  
_I am in control._  
  
**_Please Megatron! More!_**  
  
The fire in his tank fans hotter, and a wide smile perches itself on the silver mech’s faceplates as he inches the digit in further, curling it against the soft and liquidated inner surface. Optimus gasps again, moans clawing their way out of deep within his chest as his valve tingles and flutters against his bonded. Megatron gives him a moment to settle before then adding another digit, curiously thrusting up into him. In response, the Prime’s entire frame trembles, keening into the crook of the other’s shoulder and neck before rocking his hips again, wordlessly begging for it again.

Slowly, but surely, the silver mech works his bonded’s valve open, instinctively stroking nodes and crooning as he stretches the soft walls within. Optimus can’t stop shaking, the feeling of such immense pleasure that’s become so foreign to him after eons of pain and fear that it overwhelms him, and he clings to Megatron as the heat building in his tanks suddenly erupts within him. It rocks his entire perspective of the world, and he screams into the other’s shoulder as lubricant rushes out of his valve and static electricity runs over his armor. Megatron groans as the tiny jolts of electricity lick at his plating, coaxing his bonded through the tremendous overload he was going through with gentle thrusts and coos. After a long klik, the Prime shudders a sigh and goes limp, falling forward against his bonded with a quiet moan. Megatron smiles faintly, turning to kiss at the other’s helm.  
  
**_Are you alright?_**  
  
His limbs feel weak and heavy, and the heated fire that just coursed through him becomes a soothing after-warmth. These feelings, so drastically contrasted from the jagged, frigid blade of fear he’d become used to, overpower him. He drowns in this sea of returning love, the sheer force of it drawing coolant tears from his optics.  
  
**_… I… I need a moment._**  
  
Megatron feels how suddenly overwhelmed his bonded is, and nods against him, simply holding him close as he cries. Fire still courses through his energon, still wells in the pit of his tanks, but he redirects his energy to his spark, letting the tendrils caress the other quivering being of light beside it. He understands this feeling, he knows if they take the next step, he’ll be next to come so undone. A pang of fear and a wave of anticipation battle for domination, both so uncontrollable he struggles to push them away from his recovering bonded. They had to take this at a reasonable pace. Their frames weren’t invincible, neither were their sparks as strong. Healing took time, and this was just another part of it.  
  
Neither of them counted the kliks that passed before the coolant tears stopped flowing from cerulean blue optics, his body’s tremors fading as he pressed against the silver mech a little more. Megatron took the moment to run a servo up and down the other’s side, pausing when he suddenly felt more heat emanating from the other’s interface array. He let his servo drift over the other’s thigh, ghosting over the valve entrance, and he felt it clench. The body that belonged to it writhed and groaned, servos clasping harder to his shoulders. Surprise flashed through his field and he pulled back slightly to look directly at the Prime. Optimus stared up at him with burning optics, the side of his lip plates pulling up into a crooked smile. Without a word, he nodded once, signaling to the other that he was ready to continue.  
  
The gesture made Megatron stiffen, and the pang of fear rode through him once again and it rendered him blank. For a moment he completely forgot what to do next. His expression would’ve been humorous had Optimus felt like laughing. Instead he guided him into it, leaning up to press a longing kiss to the other’s intake. He then shifted over towards the head of the berth, leaning back and pulling his bonded over him. It was the sensation of falling that awoke Megatron from his daze, and he caught himself just before their frames slammed together. He growled into the kiss, taking back the control Optimus easily gave and reaching down to spread the other’s legs. Feeling the lubricant drip down the other’s legs, his hardened spike made its presence known, and they both shuddered when it rubbed against the other’s entrance.  
  
There was no turning back now.  
  
When the silver mech finally pushed in, both of their sparks stopped. Their air rushed from their intakes and they both took in struggling gasps, unable to think from the onslaught of fire and ecstasy that was flooding their frames. When they moved, instinct took over, and they moved in tandem. Slowly and steady at first, refamiliarizing themselves with the intimate act they hadn’t played in so long. When the heat in their tanks needed more fire, they silently asked for more. Words were lost, traded for the keens and growls and cries that were torn from their vocalizers. Their friction built. _Faster, harder, closer!_ Rational thought was thrown to the wind. They forgot reality and chased their building overloads, running in place to find that grey area where everything blurred and nothing else mattered but each other.  
  
Their sparks, like stars, spun in their casings, revolving around each other on either side of the bond like stars. Closer, closer, _ever closer_. They were strings pulled taunt. Neither of them could last.  
  
Optimus was the first to relent to the spark that called him. His chest plates snapped open, and the bright blue glow of his spark glowed over both of them. Megatron’s movements slowed to a stop, and open shock coursed through the bond as he stared down at the spark he hadn’t seen in eons. His digits reached up to trace the edge of the Matrix around it, the artifact old and weathered, crystal gone dull. He looked back up at his bonded, his gaze questioning.  
  
**_You… you want this?_**  
  
The sudden stillness brought the Prime back to reality, and he looked down at his opened chest plates. It was dark, and his spark offered the only light in the room beside Megatron’s optics. Fear coursed through his field before he could stop it, but it wasn’t from any flashback of the labs or the syringes that had been stabbed into his chest. No, it was fear of the truth that had yet to be revealed between them.  
  
_So many questions still circled them. Neither of them could stand to be apart, yet too many experiences stood between them._  
  
Renewing their bond meant tearing open each and every experience they’d gone through in the catacombs and showing it to each other.  
  
The thought terrified them both.  
  
Sensing the slowly building terror between them, Megatron began to recede, ready to respectfully end their coupling for the sake of their healing states of mind.  
  
But Optimus grabbed his arm strut, unwilling to let him retreat.  
  
Megatron stilled. They watched each other cautiously, searching each other’s optics for something they weren’t even aware of. Optimus grounded himself once again with the sight of those familiar red optics and tightened his grip on the other.  
  
_**… We shouldn’t have to bear what we faced alone.**_  
  
The silver mech slowly recycled his optics. Beneath him, though weakened and fearful, Optimus Prime showed more strength in the words he spoke then he’d been able to show since their capture.  
  
**_I am afraid of what will happen… But you are my bonded, Megatronus. If no one else, I want you to know._**  
  
Optics lowering to the other’s open, glowing spark, the silver mech felt trepidation creeping up his spinal strut. But he had the feeling Optimus had much more to be afraid of with what he had to show, and the realization awed him as much as it terrified him.  
  
It rendered him momentarily mute. But his chest plates opened, revealing his tainted purple spark. Optimus’s optics widened at the action.  
  
_**No more secrets, Orion… I love you.**_  
  
The Prime exhaled shakily, and he pushed love over their bond. Crimson red clashed with cerulean blue. And finally, the revolving stars melded into one another.  
  
They collided in a magnificent catastrophe, and chaos ensued.  
  
Both pairs of optics went white as memories and experiences were traded through the bond, crashing and bumping into each other as they went. Their aged and scarred frames were forgotten, traded for an existence that only encompassed the energy of their souls. As blue light once purified by Primus melted into purple light tainted by Unicron, their sense of selves turned into one being, pulling them into a mold where their bond had been forged, would shatter, and would soon be rebuilt. Like the power of a supernova, their energy raced and whirled with such tremendous force, the fear and physical pain behind the memories they had to share powering it. Optimus felt his spark wither as he was exposed to the fiery pits of the catacombs. The acid hoses stemming from every which way. The electrical prods that hovered and stabbed deep into protoform. The raging heat that melted limbs and burned flesh into charcoaled meat. The guards that screeched, shrieked, and ordered every weary prisoner to trudge over the cliffs and around the fires. The monsters that reduced the Lord of the Decepticons to a slave who crawled on the brink of death.  
  
Megatron’s experience was very different. He felt the world go dark around him, firstly coming to him in short blurry flashes that knocked the air from his vents. When these flashes came clearer and grew longer, he was walked into the labs beyond the rocks he’d only ever seen from outside. He felt the burn of chemicals sterilizing his armor to the point that bleached steam rose from heated plating. He felt the straps of a rolling table over each limb pinning him down, too tight to struggle against. Nausea encompassed him as it rolled down long white hallways, bright and blank with rooms locked shut on either side. He glimpsed the lab rooms, cluttered and bustling with pale-faced aliens and surgical instruments that made his tank drop to the floor. Shock and inconceivable terror raced through him as chest plates were forced open and sharp needles injected unidentifiable chemicals into the plasma. The world went dark again, and he stood in the sudden quiet, nervous and confused. But then, visions filled his processor, and they pushed him off an unseen edge. Spiraling, careening, falling… without knowing if he’d ever hit the ground.  
  
“YOU KILLED US!”  
  
“WHY OPTIMUS?! WHY?!”  
  
“NO ONE CAN HEAR YOU—”  
  
“CYBERTRON IS DEAD.”  
  
“YOU ARE THE LAST.”  
  
“YOU THOUGHT I LOVED YOU, PRIME?!”  
  
“RUN, BELOVED!!”  
  
Voices and screams tore at his audials, his worst fears happened to him all at once. Too much panic overloaded his systems at once as he realized that Optimus’s spark was tearing itself apart. His processor was fritzing, charge flowing backwards, disabling all coherent thought. It was too much. _Too much._ _TOO MUCH._  
  
Megatron’s physical scream was so loud it shook the walls and cracked the glass of their window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: *walks into the room*  
> Me: *finds my muses still going at in berth*  
> Me: 0_0  
> Optimus: *slowly looks up*  
> Megatron: *slowly looks up*  
> Optimus: 0_0  
> Megatron: -_-  
> Me: *walks back out of the room*


	36. Consequence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somebody commented and brought me back from the tomb of dead authors. So, hi, I'm back, and I've brought more content.
> 
> Also, Happy New Year. 
> 
> On a final note, somebody on tumblr said next week is MEGOP WEEK, and you can bet your star-spangled shorts that I'll be throwing my own fluffy trash into the pile. So no, I don't plan on returning to the grave just yet. Hopefully, I'll be able to put out another chapter on this in the next month.

The sun that normally shone through their window was traded for cloudy skies and torrents of rain. It pounded against the glass, blurring the city outside their living space. Wind carried the rain in every direction, slanting one way then the other and back again. It was dreary and dark, with the light above their helms offering the only reprieve from it.  
  
Day or night. Neither of them knew which to be afraid of anymore.  
  
**_Megatron?_**  
  
The silver mech sat on the berth, back against the wall. He stared out the window silently, absently watching the rain and the grey skies. He’d been silent since dawn, so lost in his own thoughts that he paid no attention to his bonded since regaining consciousness from the night before.  
  
_**… Megatronus?**_  
  
Optimus knew why. He understood why. He’d been silent for eons. But that did not stop the trepidation and worry from flooding his spark as the groons passed. Now, he could wait no longer. Slowly, Optimus crawled towards him, inching closer as soft croaks came from his vocalizer.  
  
**_… Megatronus, speak to me. Look at me. Please._**  
  
For a klik, he received no response. Megatron remained lost in his thoughts. Optimus persisted, nudging against the other spark and desperately whining for him to answer. He could not handle quiet from his loud and outspoken bonded. It was unthinkable.  
  
Then, in a sudden instant, the ex-warlord’s helm turned towards him. The Prime’s spark twisted at the ghost of agony he saw behind crimson optics. He’d seen the truth, and with the truth came the torture. Habitually, Optimus raised a servo without thinking, flipping it between them so the back of it faced his bonded. Megatron’s optics drifted down to it, staring at it without reaction. With every second that passed, the Prime felt something barbed and painful coil around his spark at his bonded’s lack of response.  
  
_Was this how you felt when I lost my mind?_  
  
Something warm and steady met the back of his servo. Optimus’s optics widened, and he looked up to see that his bonded had finally responded, having lifted the back of his own servo against his to begin their ritual. Without a word, their servos moved simultaneously, rolling against each other to flip and connect by each digit, eventually ending up intertwined between them. Relief flooded through him for a moment before he noticed how emotionally distant he remained, and his optics fell. The other’s spark barely responded to his touches, barely acknowledged him. Regret hung heavy in his field as he looked away. He knew why.  
  
**_Megatron I… I’m sorry._**  
  
His spark pulled away. Suddenly he couldn’t bear to face his bonded.  
  
_**I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have made you—**_  
  
He cut himself off. The damage was done. Mentioning it would only make matters worse.  
  
Releasing a shaky sigh, he turned away, intent on leaving the berth to give the silver mech space.  
  
“Don’t.”  
  
The dark snarl reached his audials. He halted in place. The servo entwined with his grasped him tightly. Optimus turned around with wide optics. Megatron’s red optics were narrow, and his lip plated had lifted into sneer.  
  
“W-What?”  
  
He barely croaked. The ex-warlord’s sneer turned more venomous, and his field slowly spread around him.  
  
_RAGE. HATRED._  
  
It was so powerful that Optimus flinched.  
  
“Don’t you _dare_ apologize.”  
  
The silver mech’s clawed servo curled tighter over his, the grip becoming borderline painful. Optimus recycled his optics, confusion and nervousness dotting his field.  
  
“I… I don’t understand—”  
  
Megatron barked a sharp growl. It silenced him immediately.  
  
“If you apologize _anymore_ for the torture that was inflicted upon you, so help me Unicron, I will go _insane!!”_  
  
_RAGE. HATRED._  
  
The Prime didn’t know when, but somewhere in that statement Megatron had closed in on him, looming over him with all the ferocity of an escaped and ravenous beast. All he could do was lean backwards, unable to crawl away with his servo trapped in the other’s grasp. Fear began to grip his spark as shock hung over his processor. This was the angriest he’d seen Megatron in a _long_ time. What was happening? What did he do wrong?  
  
“M-Megatron—Wha-?”  
  
He cried out when the silver mech’s grip became too painful and his violent field swarmed him all at once.  
  
“If anyone deserves to be _sorry_ … If _ANYONE_ deserves to be groveling on their knees spitting apologies and internal fluids as they beg for mercy, it would be our _Primus-forsaken CAPTORS!!”_  
  
Megatron’s free servo fisted and slammed down beside the Prime’s helm. Optimus was panicking. The words his bonded spoke and his actions made no sense. Coolant began to creep into his optics as he fell backwards onto the berth, at the complete mercy of the wrathful mech above him who looked ready to kill.  
  
_RAGE. HATRED._  
  
“—And _so help me_ , if they should cross my path before my spark fades, _I WILL TEAR THEM ALL APART LIMB BY BROKEN LIMB UNTIL THEIR FLUIDS CREATE AN OCEAN TO BURY THEIR ROTTING CORPSES!! I DON’T CARE WHAT IT TAKES!!”_  
  
_RAGE. HATRED._  
  
_PANIC._  
  
“Megatronus!! _Please stop!!”_  
  
He wailed desperately. The sound of it seemed to be what finally reached the silver mech. He froze, the omens of death roared from his intake falling away. They left his frame hot and heaving, his narrowed glaring optics suddenly recycling as they regained focus on reality. Megatron’s vision found Optimus beneath him, his own frame heaving and shaking from fear and tears staining the faceplates underneath cerulean blue optics.  
  
_What… What did I do?_  
  
The moment his grip on the other’s servo loosened, Optimus wrenched himself out of it. Megatron nearly flew backwards as the Prime scrambled away from him, stumbling backwards off the berth and backpedaling into the sink. Terrified blue optics stayed locked on him. Something frigid encased his spark.  
  
_Unicron’s Pit, no…_  
  
Slowly, the ex-warlord raised his servos, pushing himself off the berth as guilt flooded his field.  
  
“Optimus…”  
  
His bonded gripped the sink behind him, flinching backward. He halted, his helm lowering apologetically as the tendrils of his spark reached out through the bond carefully.  
  
“Optimus, I’m sorry—I… Did I hurt you?”  
  
The Prime’s servos came away from the sink, and he pulled them close to his chest as the digits of his right servo rubbed over the sharp dents now imprinted into his left. Megatron’s tank dropped and his shoulders stiffened.  
  
_You fraggin’ IDIOT!!_  
  
“Primus… Sweetspark, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”  
  
He took a small step forward. Optimus didn’t move away. He took whatever progress he could get. The Prime rubbed at his servo again before speaking quietly.  
  
“… Are you… Are you angry with me?”  
  
The silver mech’s optics widened and he adamantly shook his helm.  
  
“Pits no! None of this is your fault!”  
  
Tension in the Prime’s frame seemed to dissipate at his response. But he didn’t move any closer.  
  
“Then why did you…?”  
  
Megatron knew the rest of the question without him needing to say it. He sighed, running a servo over his faceplates wearily.  
  
“Your… experiences in the catacombs. They’ve been hovering over my processor since awakening. You know at this point how I react when something threatens you.”  
  
Optimus slowly nodded once. He did know. Whenever something had posed a threat to Orion before the war, Megatronus’s first reaction had always been anger. His first instinct had been to protect. Seeing something like the effects of the labs on Orion would’ve driven Megatronus insane.  
  
_Well, weren’t they both already?_  
  
Megatron sighed again, looking back up at his bonded.  
  
“I should never have let myself take that anger out on you. I am truly sorry, Optimus.”  
  
Finally, the tendrils of the Prime’s spark reached back to wrap around his. Thankful, he held him tight. Physically Optimus sighed, walking back to the berth and sitting on the edge of it. Megatron sat next to him, unsure how act next. Silence laced itself between them before Optimus broke it.  
  
“… I shouldn’t have made us bind sparks last cycle. We weren’t ready for it.”  
  
He lamented, burying his faceplates in his servos. Megatron blinked, turning to him as he processed the statement. Carefully, he reached out, placing a tender servo on the other’s thigh.  
  
“What’s done is done, Optimus. We can’t take it back.”  
  
When he began to rub up and down the silver leg strut, he finally regained the full attention of his bonded, who dropped his servos into his lap and turned to him. The silver mech lifted his lip plates in a half-sparked smile.  
  
“If it means anything, I wouldn’t take it back even if I could. I’d rather endure it by your side than without you and never know the truth.”  
  
Optimus huffed lightly, sharing his small smile. After a moment’s hesitation, he tentatively leaned into his bonded’s side, gathering one of his knees to his chest while the other dangled off the berth. Megatron’s smile widened and he wrapped an arm around him. Leaning over to press a kiss to the top of his helm, both pairs of optics closed in tandem and they vented simultaneously. The silver mech’s helm rested behind the audial antennae of his bonded, and this time they let the silence dangle between them without interruption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Megatron: So now I'm abusing my bonded?  
> Me: Apparently.  
> Megatron: Why are you so cruel?  
> Me: Because the readers demand your suffering.


End file.
